by Henry Quince

I still recall the thrill of those weekends
After the fortnight-long anticipation —
The train via Banbury sliding in at last,
Late Friday afternoon, to Lime Street Station.
Who could live up to such romantic hope?
Too much rode with me on that railway track,
The welcome never quite what I could wish.
And after Sunday lunch my heading back
Seemed almost a relief to both of us.
Distance liaisons tend to be like that.
So why did we press forward nonetheless?
You left your Mersey friends for my southern flat
And I, predictably, in time left you.
I know, I know: I was a letdown too.

Henry Quince lives in Australia, where he dabbles in jazz piano. He’s been published in Modern Haiku, The Chimaera, Umbrella, Soundzine, and a few other venues here and there.