Do you think she stands there just because she can;
To feel the pulling wind of soon arriving trains
Balancing the tightrope of the platforms edge
As she sways to the echoed vibrations?
Does she see herself through technicoloured screens;
Holding court from across the yellow line
Stretching out to the bated breaths
Of her watching captive audience?
Or does she teeter on the edge of something else;
The subtle lure of the space between the tracks
Or the gnawing, hungry, vicious biting
Of her life outside the station?
I wonder if she feels your stare?
Feels you cut yourself on her soft edges
And questions if you’ll meet her eyes
Or stand there still,
Till your train stops at the platform.