His wife, evicted, leaves by train
Imagine her, reclining
Falling to the movement of the train.
An evening start, closing her away.
Watch her white shock
A pale eviction, a bloodless coup then
Hear clunk of metal, wheels moving, a knock
Pillows her head and away, unwife’d.
A sudden detail; thin bare shaky fingers.
This was grown in her heart and his.
The others - they could be guests - fill carriages.
They are in this scene, unknowns.
Nobody comes to a divorce, to mark.
And the guard, the thin blood of the train, is moving through
Towards her, arriving back to front
To ask her where she’s going.
He’ll stop, smile, take her slip, and look.
She won’t turn her head.
James A Bullion, November 2008
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