Division

edited again and again may have nailed it this time.

Each night he waits on bridges
for trains to pass.
In the air there’s only
the distress signal
of his personal Titanic,
the stationmaster’s whistle,
to jump or not to jump
as pointless as the echo
of never a straight answer.
In the mirror -back home-
there; a multiplying shadow.
Sometimes he asks the cup
his wife holds, why doesn’t he
have vertical eyes.
She no longer thinks
he is addressing her,
but the handle which
resembles a tiny bridge.

 

© ifyouplease 2020
UKA Editor's Pick!
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critique and comments welcome.
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Stormwolf

Hi Nic, A very stark and deep poem. The pic was perfect to accompany it too. In the air there’s only the distress signal of his personal Titanic, the stationmaster’s whistle, I could picture the scene perfectly. There are few things more desolate than a railway bridge alone at night with the banshee like sound of the whistle in the damp cold air. Bit mystified at the last bit. Is she aware he sees the handle as a tiny bridge? Does she know he is suicidal? A very atmospheric poem which leaves a disquiet in the reader so all good.… Read more »

TheRecluse

Definitely nailed, brilliant study of the intricacies of fixations in thinking.
TheRecluse

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