The man sits above the tracks

at Bristol Parkway. He drinks tea,

studies the distance.

He notes the numbers of trains.

With the binocs he picks them out

on the long curve from Scotland,

the hard-driving run from Swindon.

He watches till the grey light fades.

He drinks tea and talks to himself

about the rude girls who serve him.

He takes some pills – perhaps the ones

the doctors make him take.

I note him down,

after my airport poems,

my studies of Sappho, Bathsheba,

and Sylvia Plath.

I ride one of his numbers home

impatient to be undisturbed with a malt

and my rank-ordering of all the available versions

of the Goldberg Variations,

BWV988.

CHRIS SOUTHGATE

Easing the Gravity Field: Poems of Love and Science (Shoestring Press, 2006)