A couple twist on a bench on the station
platform: he bends and holds her foot in his hand,
cleaning her shoe. She turns her body from his
ministrations, arms folded, furious. They do not speak.
I wonder for a while, invent their story.
Then tire, and start to think of crumpets with honey.

Maggie Butt

If you have any comments on this poem, Maggie Butt would be pleased to hear from you.