On a Train from Reading Station

I could not contain the smile, it grew.
No affectation.
One of those spontaneous smiles, quiet humour (or irony) -
it sometimes steals its way across my face -
like an ambush.

Will he notice?

A cool, young black man sitting opposite.
On the train from Reading station.
18 (I think) with his girl

from top to bottom
immaculate.
My father would be impressed.
If he were alive
if he would see.
But I knew he wouldn't
couldn't.
No speck of dust, no dirt.
Coordinated.
Primed.
And his shoes!
Trainers
gleaming white.
No doubt expensive
vibrant Nike tick.
Tall, slim, fluid shape, casual.
Seemingly unconcerned, confident.
Skateboard tucked
accidentally
under arm.

A trophy?
He wants us to look,
(but not really).

And then there's me!
Opposite.
On the train from Reading station.
57 (I know) alone.
Will he notice?
New Chinos (stretch)
fitting nicely, I think.
From top to bottom, immaculate.

My father would be impressed
if he were alive
if he would see.
But I knew he wouldn't
couldn't.
No speck of dust or dirt.
Coordinated.
Primed.
And my shoes!
Brogues, leather sole.
No question. Expensive
polished vibrant shine.
Tall, slim (not-so-fluid shape these days) casual.
Seemingly unconcerned, confident.
Wrinkles etched
accidentally, across a face.

Trophies?
I want them to look,
(but not really).

From the platform
looking through the carriage window
people see

us. Different.

And yet

here we are!
Opposite
sharing.

A love of shoes.
Silent dreams.
A single brief-lived moment
together in this life
as we rode the train

from Reading Station.

Image; Art Johnstone. ‘On a train from Reading station’. Returning to Winchester to meet Moira. 2019.

similarities - not differences.