You had promised under the tangerine setting sun
a return to my waiting arms on the last train home
after your restless, gallivanting days were done!
so every night I stood watching the cold bare tracks
never baulking at the wastrels skulking in the shadows
hoping the alcohol hazed promise wouldn’t recede under cracks!
like a mental afterimage that refuses to perish
I remained an incomplete, unfinished neglected poem
waiting endlessly for that final stanza with flourish!
I finally accept I had been deluding myself you were mine
scattering my corroded memories in the wake of the last train,
I take a deep, dispassionate look at the station, one last time.