Platform 2
Pigeons hang beneath the underpass
Like hoodlums -
Eyes flickering at each other.
Above, a man holds golden ringletts
On his lap, jumping on his knees.
Her pink anorack is dulled by the granite stripes of the bridge
The colour flashes through the gaps with every childlike pirouette.
In a gust of wind the birds become a cacophony of wings
Feet bent forward, feathers falling onto passers by
And over the man they scatter and reform, the undersides of their bodies
White against billboards.
An extended index finger returns to daddy's face
As they circle and then return
Pulling up their nike trainer socks
And re-scouring the street
For the crumbs of onlookers
Waiting for the 2.15.
Like hoodlums -
Eyes flickering at each other.
Above, a man holds golden ringletts
On his lap, jumping on his knees.
Her pink anorack is dulled by the granite stripes of the bridge
The colour flashes through the gaps with every childlike pirouette.
In a gust of wind the birds become a cacophony of wings
Feet bent forward, feathers falling onto passers by
And over the man they scatter and reform, the undersides of their bodies
White against billboards.
An extended index finger returns to daddy's face
As they circle and then return
Pulling up their nike trainer socks
And re-scouring the street
For the crumbs of onlookers
Waiting for the 2.15.