Interview on a Train
I sat, as I do, working and watching on my train—
mostly watching the Clyde
as we raced into Glasgow,
but I pop my eyes out and around occasionally.
An older woman was across from me,
and then an older man got on and sat across from her.
They immediately started talking. Not small talk,
like they knew each other,
but the kind of grander ideas
that mean they either just met
or have been dancing
just this number for decades. But then
there were notebooks,
two (three if you count mine),
and a flurried pen and a scratching pencil—
all this in the first minute. And curse me
for my headphones, or just curse headphones.
I didn’t catch a word. In my head,
though, they were both great writers,
both married, both in love with one another,
but this train journey was their only time together,
so they wrote down every word,
scent, sound, and fleet-footed impression.
So, if I’m in their notes now, they’re in mine too.
