Still golden haired
at somewhere near
my silver age
she sat, not out of choice,
but allocation, next to me.
The Eurostar entails
such meetings;
a rendez-vous
with God knows who.
The tickets are resolved
for those who journey
under the sea, alone.
I’d been in Paris
chasing heroes,
the cobbles of Montmartre
rubbing on my shoes.
The Moulin Rouge
now in my camera
I looked at her
from more of a Louvre
point of view.
She, travelling to London,
told me that she lived
in La Rochelle,
was looking forward
to a brief re-union with friends
across the channel.
Her autumnal beauty
accompanied me
en-dessous de la manche
as she briefly slept
in the tunnel’s dark,
cheered my journey’s end
with hers beginning;
the ticket allocations
sometimes leave their mark.
copyright John Webber 2006
Home Biography Poems Performance Book Publications Magazine Publications Recommended