No Frozen Supper
NO FROZEN SUPPER
The level crossing was closed long before;
Ringing bells continued to say overdue
It was a windy minus-ten wait for the 244.
-Seen afar blocked in the traffic queue
Idle as a painted ship frozen too soon;
Crabs in shells or turtles ashore and repentant
Under the smiling January moon.
-Clear and resplendent
Motionless for a half-hour unabating;
Hot-breath abandoned fog machines waiting
And stamping feet, home-hungry, muttering.
-Nobody ate anybody - but it was a near thing
Whistles pierced the air and trains rumbled out;
Traffic moved, unlocked the jigsaw on the bus
And a woman’s shivering sharp shout.
-Wheels turned and returned all of us
Copyright © Sidney Beck | Year Posted 2019
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