You've sat on this platform too long,
the faded wooden boards creaky from age.
You were there from the very beginning, suitcase in hand.
Running your hands across the smooth planks.
Swinging your legs over the edge.
You're still there, the splintery boards now rough and menacing.
Your legs reach the ground now.
Your suitcase smells of dust and earth.
And the rain has begun to fall.
As you wearily wait, you still wait,
for the train.
You can't go home, your house now has probably fallen down
or maybe someone else
has found it accommodating.
Every minute grows longer and you grow more tired
of waiting
for the
train.
