She taps out a number with electronic bleeps
lets someone know she’ll be late
for an interview she would have made
with half an hour to spare

were circumstances different for her
different for the soul who threw their life on the track
different for us
losing our reservations
our Supersaver days out
reduced to afternoon excursions
while the train crawls and mobiles trill.

On the way home she’s at it again
beyond Wellingborough and Kettering
into Leicester and Loughborough
cutting through whining children
and waves of tiredness
she dips into her buzzing handbag
talks of her smiling chauffeur
the warm bath she longs for
then puts us out of one misery
into another
with her account
of the burnt brakes
stinking out our carriage.

Sue Dymoke

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