Games People Play

I have had a double spring this year,
but now I find myself kicked through
autumn's bronze door,
landing cold and jet-lagged
on a dark platform.

The last train home arrives
in a grim carnival of lights.
I put my feet up and inspect
the ink-blot test seat covers -
Jackson Pollock rip-offs
designed to hide gum and dirt.

Then he walks through the doors
at the other end of the carriage,
entering my life again
with the sound and fury
of a flashing siren, and sits
out of sight. My heart slips
down the plughole of my stomach.

But all of a sudden I'm on my feet,
full of courage and confrontation -
I walk down the carriage...
But it's not him. Some random bloke
gives me a funny look and I collapse
into the seat in the corner.

I rest my arms on the seat in front
and my forehead on my arms
in the airplane brace position
and remind myself to breathe.
I haven't thought about him for weeks,
but now my mind, my eyes,
some trick of the light, have brought him here...

Trying to stay calm, I take myself
back to Australia and snorkelling
off the Great Barrier Reef.
I'm looking down through the blue gloom
to a heart-shaped sea anemone
that blooms purple like a familiar bruise.

But then I'm remembering the last time
I saw him: I was so nervous I threw up
in the train toilet. Kissed him with the same lips
and never said anything. I'm back there now,
that last day, crouched, shaking, blinded by hair.
I think of him, and how it all ended,
and all the games we used to play.