In the waiting room

In the waiting room

Tick-tock goes the clock
There's snapping in the stove.
We all wait in silence
in the dull green room.

The rustling of a newspaper
and the odd chesty cough
are drowned by vibrations
as the coast express flies past.

Footsteps in the booking hall;
a muffled voice requesting
'Return to Waterloo, please,
coming back today.'

The old man rises to stretch his legs
and wanders across the room.
He rests his arm on the mantelpiece,
fingers drumming on the wood.

A bell rings out. Ears prick up.
A small boy gets up with his dog.
The room begins to shake again
as the London train comes in.

His book snaps shut, then his case,
the city gent puts on his hat.
He throws his 'dog-end' in the stove
and it sizzles in the grate.

The door slams behind him
then a woman enters.
In the mirror on the chimney breast
she checks her hat and coat.

Doors bang. Whistles blow.
There's shouting from the porter
'Please board immediately.
It's about to go.'

The engine gives a sharp toot
and a deafening hiss of steam.
The train begins to slide out
giving daylight to the room.

In the station waiting room
the noise dies away.
We all wait in silence
while the old man taps the wood.