Two Poems
Ian Hamilton, 14 January 2002
The waiting rooms are full of ‘characters’ Pretending not to sleep. Your eyes are open But you’re far away At home, am Rhein, with mother and the cats. Your hair grazes my wrist. My cold hand surprises you.
The porters yawn against the slot-machines And watch contentedly; they know I’ve lost. The last train is simmering outside, and overhead...