The Last Train
She was waiting for the last train,
under the lamp light.
The rain drizzled
and the lamp made shadows
on a damp grey wall and as it did
ghostly figures loomed,
spookily, highlighting
the loneliness of the night.
Passing the time, she read posters
‘drink this beer, buy that car,
holiday in Spain.
She shivered, wet, tired,
no umbrella, wearing a
thin plastic Mac.
As her train pulled away,
she snuggled up inside a carriage.
Looking out of its window,
there, against the damp wall
was a tramp, dirty, ragged,
silently swigging Meths,
no coat, no train ticket,
drinking his damnation.
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
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