That Breeze
That Breeze
Written by Fiona Riordan
The five o’clock trafficwhirrs in the distant streets,
the lights glimmer
blurry-eyed through the rain
beyond the station,
rows of red on red on red
stand motionless.
Black umbrellas, endless suits
and briefcases flit up
and down stairs, students
wear their destinations
across their chests like evacuees.
I look up the line
into the untouched darkness
and wait for that ripple of cold air
to break the stillness
and push back the hairs fallen
around my face.
My bags stand between my legs
on the platform edge,
torrents of water pour down in front of me,
The night air cools
the tip of my nose,
hot air warms me from behind.
Trains already departed drop
off the end of the board,
like dominoes lined up
and pushed. Couples and
halves of couples stand,
waiting to be parted and reunited.
I wait for the breeze.