Crush me with
bursts of French
at the ‘Markets’
before I run
to Waverley
to school plays.
Come closer still.
Unexpected, as Phil
to Phyllis, look
this once. And let
eyes speak: of places
that rise
on the bright
beaches we imagined.
There,
siren pipes play to us.
Turning, we silently
make our way to
‘nine’ (or is it ‘seven’).
A time for action
past as your
train is announced.
