The woman on the train

The woman on the train

Would have been quite attractive

But  for the disturbance

That kept the smile from her lips.

 

Her phone call bore no fruit,

“It” hadn’t arrived yet and

She arranged to call back

On the way home from work.

 

She was in her mid-30s I supposed,

Sitting there in contemplative silence,

Her long dark hair contrasting

With the creamy wool of her coat.

 

On the table in front was

A pair of red leather gloves

With a velvet scarf that

Matched her crimson lipstick.

 

When we got to Peterborough

She pulled on the gloves

And, moving down the carriage,

Left the train.

 

I noticed she wore black boots

As I watched her walking

Off along the platform

The rain beating heavily against the window.

 

The train pulled away

And I sat there wondering

What her problem might be,

Then I moved on.