One Kiss, One Train
by John Grey
Without first love, there’d be no love.
The rest of the loves
are just sorrowful old men and women
with battered suitcases
standing on drab platforms
for trains that never come.
Still, we convince ourselves
that the standing and the waiting
is the true love,
with its baggage at both our sides,
with that shared stare down the barren track
for sign of something.
I can’t kiss the woman
from twenty years ago
so I lean over and kiss the one next to me.
It’s the nearest I get to that other kiss.
It’s like her cheek is a scrap-book
and I’m pasting
a twenty year old clipping into its pages.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in That, Dalhousie Review and Qwerty with work upcoming in Blueline, Chronogram and Clade Song.