Alison Williams

Departures

The train arrives, it's late. A few people talk, their voices carry in the evening chill. “. . . no, I haven’t seen him, not since, oh, I don’t remember when . . .” Most take their seats in silence. From the platform, she smiles and waves goodbye. Five minutes later she turns, shrugs, waves one last time, and walks away. “. . . he’d just say cheerio and go, now I could never do that . . .”

first spots of rain
the blue seatback
worn pale

He does the crossword, I don’t tell him, you spell tryst with a y. The wet street, two boys in the lamp light, their silent concentration, heads bent over Gameboys. “. . . but you know, it's not supposed to be like that . . .”

illegible graffiti
scratched deep into
the window