Departures (Poetry)

The platform’s bare but for a generous scattering
of poorly cut confetti —
crude pastel shapes — bells and bows;
lucky horseshoes; flowers; hearts and things
less easy to identify —
cheap tissue paper scraps of hope flung high
to send them on their honeymooning way.

Unannounced, a through train rattles past —
a sudden, bullish thunk of noise
extending to a roaring boiler blast
that rocks the station’s brickwork
and whirls the multicoloured litter in its wake —
a drifting cloud that falls again but more spread out —
symbolically dispersing, train by passing train.

Near silence settles back; drained beneath
June’s bleached-out skies — tradition’s month for weddings
and the setting off for further down the line.
Old departures, long ago goodbyes
crowd the air. For now there’s no one here to see
those destinations listed like a mantra on the board —
its fitful click and clack automatic
as the drinks dispenser and the ticket machine.

Nothing but pale bits of paper stir, restless with the wait,
shuffle lightly, jostle, move along
the empty platform’s edge or fall and blow along the tracks,
chase the trail wherever love has gone.