Half Agony, Half Hope

A suitcase held lightly between feet,

A rucksack on a plastic seat,

The press of metal against her neck,

The ticket in her hand reads home.

A bullet. The tang of petrol fumes.

Sparks fly as it scratches the steel.

The bone-china café concaves

And the yellow line shudders in fear.

Pink foam covers ears in a panic,

She closes her eyes as the drums get loud,

Glues her feet to the concrete floor,

As it crashes and grinds and puffs.

She breathes. The drums go quiet.

A soft click, as doors glide apart.

She minds the gap, and takes her seat,

It’s forward facing, like her feet.