WOMAN ON A TRAIN.

To the casual observer
Sitting opposite you on
The train, you seem in
The depth of prayer,
Maybe some grace or
Mood from God caught
You there, but in the reality
Of it all, your hands cover
Your face to hide the tears

And held-in hurt, because
You have to return to him
Again, have to return to another
Evening and night with him,
Take his mood swings, his
Sordid sex, his curses, thumps
And hurtful words, his snide
Comments as you prepare his
Meal, set out his things by his

Favourite chair, expecting
Nothing less than you being
There. To the casual observer,
Who may look away, not
Knowing the pain you are
In or your need for some
Knight in shining armour
To come racing to your aid
And carry you off to some

High castle in the air or a
Woodland glade, you are
Just another woman opposite
On a train, with your own
Thoughts, your own way
Of sitting, you own way
Of holding a bag, the way
Your head is tilted, the hands
Hiding a face, a sister unknown,

Just another dame without
A name, with dowdy clothes,
And nice enough legs, and
Their thoughts of you have
Gone elsewhere, you no more
The centre of their thoughts
Of sharer their world, just
Some one they saw on an
Evening train, just another
In this spinning world, trying
To be distracted, avoiding pain.