At Flinders St station I
jump over the ticket barrier
without glancing around
As I wait
a man appears,
with him a small child
who holds a
bright, purple balloon
Outside my blinkers
two men are bleeding
A woman paces anxiously
screeching into her mobile.
The rest is the quiet hum and shuffle
of people in transit.
What they order at the
food stores…
How they have their
coffees…
At Flinders St station
I saw a bride cry
in the toilets
The balloon began to
detach and fly from
the child
and enter the crowded atmosphere
A funny rhythm, a
funny dance,
rusting residue from
people’s shoes
I long to twirl
in the ballroom above
At Flinders St station, I wait
and sometimes, I run.
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