At night, near the station

as i walk along this road, i alone in the dark
see their car appear, first its headlights,
then the bonnet as it slows; i run through the car park
where the snow is cake icing in moonlight

to shadows where tracks meet the platform
i slump to the gravel, not a train until 5
rubber soles approach softly like a snowstorm
and the steel blade winks: "still alive?"

my heart sinks, but the sky fades in white flakes
gliding all 'round and over my breath
steaming but safe; a voice from the car double takes
as i sigh and fall to sleep, or death.

***

Been snowing a bit during the last few days, especially today. Saw it coming down quite hard here around 3, then as strongly tonight in the West End. Discerned a thin layer of snow on cars as I snapfooted back from the station. On the ground it still just melts though. It's been the coldest all winter this last week, no doubt about that.

It's a little eerie to imagine what the train station must be like after the last trains. Deserted, for one. Eerie, in this context, alludes to "a fear of nightprowling humans who act in injurous, thug-like ways". Which is what the above little poem is really about. Fear.