Waterloo

The West of England line rattles with grimy carriages – decorated with paint splatters and torn newspapers. Across the Solent clattering its irregular rhythm that no one can follow. The Kent Coast carries the scent of the sea – honking as it rolls inland. The sun shines grey piercing windows that accept the life of travelling solitude. They meet in the city – exhausted strangers – neither wanting to be the first to speak.

– Benjamin F Jones
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About Graphite Bunny

I am a writer working in South Wales (UK). I love pizza, photography and moist clay. When it rains I catch drops in my open mouth. I create poetry, flash, absurdist snapshots and humorous fiction.
This entry was posted in Prose Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

6 Responses to Waterloo

  1. the last sentence…..

  2. Keith Parker says:

    I read this the other morning and was quite impressed with the emotion it conveyed. Being here in the States it’s hard for me to relate to the specifics but it is so well-written that the mood comes through even though I don’t know the setting. Well done!

  3. You’ve expressed so well that weighed down solitary feeling of travelling on a long train-journey and arriving, too exhausted for conversation.

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