New York

Pedalling a freewheel of thought,
A cabaret of icons
You stand across the water from
Hoboken, a glittering knife
Kept from my company a little longer
By the stop-starting of the Gladstone train
Where I sat with the rustle of the
Unread New York Times
Between my face and the face of
A man reading Lolita -
Sandy, well pruned beard,
Eyebrows composed of
The stoutness of hair only
Middle-aged men can achieve
With regret
Whose foot twice touched mine
And whose eyes I watched
Clandestinely
Swing away from his novel
To beyond the window's glass
That had lost its poetry
To the smudge of a
Stranger's head and the lick
Of a late night scrawl
Where he stared
(I was sure)
At nothing, until the carriages
Groaned back to motion
Along tantalising track
The conductor announcing the
Approach of the final destination
Which was you, across the water,
Freewheeling,
Glittering like a knife.