Cycles in the station

 

As the calendar flips through

another day, week, month,

I watch the passing of time 

from the corner of my eye.

Sat where yesterday I faced,

the place I would today be.

Musical chairs in the station seats.

And the months become

memories

floating on the breeze

that blows in

every time someone takes

the automatic doorway

into this hall

filled with the soothing beats

of shuffling feet.

 

And autumn turns

to winter, spring,

into summer.

A year

under the cover

of the 

fluorescent dream.

 

No cycles in the station.

Shouts the security lady,

enjoying the power

that the yellow hi-vis grants.

As the kids jump from their

rides for the fourth time

in the last hour, eyes to the ground.

A stifled laugh in their throat.

Let out in a roar once

they exit onto the street.

In her mind she doesn’t mind

these young ones and their little stunts.

In truth she wishes she could replicate

their rebellious streak.

 

In the lovers corner

hearts drift aflutter

as two eyes are drawn closer

to each other, and in someone's heart

summer starts to set in.

Whilst in the seats down the end

winter seems to be clouding a man's brain.

Outside the spring air opens

and down comes a rain.

washing clean the air,

and I look back at my notepad

and put my autumnal

words down, to later share.