Girl on a Train

He had got on the train at New Street,

Found an empty carriage spare,

And settled down with the paper

With not one to disturb him there,

But the train pulled in at Sandwell

And the carriage door slid wide,

And in there walked a pair of heels

With a dimple and hips beside.

 

She sat on the seat across from him

And laid her bag on the seat,

Kicked her shoes on the floor, so he

Could see her pretty feet,

He tried to look at his paper but

The print got up and walked,

Up from her ankles to her calfs

And he found it hard to talk.

 

‘How do you do,’ was banal but

That’s all that came to mind,

She briefly looked from her knitting, and

He thought that her eyes were kind,

But never a word would pass those lips

She had the slightest pout,

And her needles clicked to the railway clack

As his mouth was drying out.

 

He’d bought some fruit in the Bullring

So he thought he’d have some there,

And at different times he offered her

An apple, peach or a pear,

But she shook her head so slightly and

Politely, in disdain,

As if the thought of a stranger’s fruit

From a man in a suit, might stain.

 

The train chuffed on through Wolverhampton

While he drank a Coke,

He knew that his time was limited

For she’d get off at Stoke,

He offered to put the window down

But she said it blew her hair,

Then he offered his name as Paul, but she

Was not inclined to share.

 

She crossed her legs and she hitched her skirt

Just slightly above her knees,

While his eyes looked up to the luggage rack,

Was this some sort of tease?

Her knitting needles were clicking away

Was she knitting some sort of sack?

It seemed like she was racing the train

Ahead of its clickety-clack.

 

The train went racing to Stafford,

In and out, but it passed so fast,

He said, ‘We’re almost at Stoke, that’s where

We’ll both get out, I guess?

There’s quite a nice little café

Down by the station in the square,

I’d like to buy you a coffee, if you want

I’ll shout you there.’

 

She stopped, and packed up her knitting

Tucked it carefully in her bag,

And said, ‘You must be Australian,

And coming here, so sad.

I’ve never been ‘shouted’ a drink before

But I think you’re rather nice,

I’ll let you know that you’re past first base

On your way to Paradise!’

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Barbz]

This vision of loveliness, caught his eye upon a train. No wonder words on paper, blurred, although, written plain. Offerings of fruit or stuff, seemed just not to fit. Wonder what was on Her mind, I don't think her knit. We know when time is limited, it's best to make your move. To find your minds on the same track, it just goes to prove. There is no special time or place, a coffee spot is nice. A sip, a tip, two hearts that fit, could lead to Paradise.........Barbz

[Vishuddha]

Well, traveling through life, sometimes you don't know where you're going. Sounds like a happy ending

[Marie]

Another happy ending. I think Thomas Fitzgerald is hinting at something. Of course the girl could turn out to be a ghost, ghoul, vampire, witch...

If someone offered to "shout" me anything, I'd be almost too inrigues to answer. But I'd say yes.

[David Lewis Paget]

To 'shout' someone in Australia, Marie, means to offer to pay for them. A group of guys in a pub will buy a 'round' each, at the end of which they will pick on the next guy and say 'your shout', meaning your turn to pay. Or someone might pre-empt that by saying 'My shout!'

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

A supreme need of horror needs to be injected!!! I jest darling, you now me, no blood = no fun! a fabulous piece of emotion and beauty!

[R Smith]

an exciting train ride i'm sure and such a lucky guy in the end, where can i get a ticket to ride lol, thanks David another brilliant tale from you :)

[Frozen Eyes]

This reminds me of a train journey during my college days.

"I’ll let you know that you’re past first base
On your way to Paradise!"
Wow there couldn't be a better way to conclude the story that u knit.. or I should say you placed a building block for a sequel...
Love it totally David :)

[Alisa Js]

Aloha,

What a beautiful story this is. I love how you bring the reader right along side and allow us to experience her as well.

Wonder what happens next????

Is there a part 2?

Curious from Hawaii,

Alisa ;-)

[Valentine]

You left me hanging as to her purpose, then... Paradise. She had something in mind all of the time but was not being anxious. Something a lot of people need to learn. A clever write as always mate. Kathie

[MomzillaNC]

I kept waiting for something wrenching or macabre or mortifying to happen to the guy --nice treat when it such did not materialize! Great commuter vignette with a promisingly happy ending. I can totally see this scene at the start of one of those wonderful, sweeping love stories!

NOTES: I presume you did it in poetic license, but the correct plural of "calf" is "calves" rather than "calfs"

[David Lewis Paget]

calf (plural calves or calfs) - from Wiktionary online.
1.(anatomy) The back of the leg below the knee.
2.The muscle in the back of the leg below the knee.

I am aware that 'calves' is the official plural of 'calf', but chose to differentiate it from 'young cows' as I didn't want the girl to appear grotesque. My character has no bovine characteristics whatsoever, so perhaps it's time we adopted a different spelling for the back of someone's leg.

[MomzillaNC]

Okay. Cool. I never use that one. We were taught "calves" for plural. I use Merriam-Webster.com or www.OED.com, which won't even show c-a-l-f-s. Sorry.

[Marie]

That'd a knotty grammar problem there. I would use "calves" to mean baby cows. And I would manage to avoid the use of it when referring to part of human anatomy.

[MomzillaNC]

Same here, Marie.

[Brandon Wesley Mckay]

I haven't a technical critique for you . This is wonderful. I can offer you this, however.
If I were to happen by a coffee shop, hearing these words set to quiet jazz guitar and drum, I would sit and listen. Dear god, how i would sit and listen.

[emmajoy]

What's the matter with all those people who looked in and didn't leave a comment.. good grief, Charlie Brown!

As always, David (must think of another start for your fine creations) you write with amazing metre, don't know how you do it, time after time after time.. but then, just to make me shake in my Peruvian slipper socks.. you tell such a glorious tale.! As to the ending.. clever stuff, a wonderful ending - Paradise-on-Stoke, huh! And fancy the woman recognising a Welsh-Australian accent!