Aldershot Station

“You know, you shouldn’t smoke on the platform” I say
as I toss a smouldering white-tipped filter towards the tracks.
She smiles, as if we have always known one another,
revealing where the pink flesh of her lips meet the charcoal lipstick.
Her elaborately ringed fingers
gently remove one of the cigarettes from the pack I extend towards her-
gently enough not to appear desperate.
“Thank you” she mutters
while tucking a long chunk of faded turquoise hair behind her ear
and reaching into the breast pocket of her black leather jacket.
Suddenly, she appears motionless,
glancing above my head towards the afternoon sun.
Her green eye-shadow shimmers in the light.
Her pale blue eyes widen.
Frantically, she begins to pat herself down;
her rings clink against the several zippers on her jacket –
most of which seem decorative and pocket-less.
She tugs on her black fishnet stockings,
ruffles her loose green skirt,
yet still gazes at the sky above my head.
I hand her my lighter,
which, once again, evokes a smile.
This time, her black lips don’t separate.
She shelters her face from the breeze with the lapel of her jacket
and a quick flick of the flint lights her cigarette.

One long exhale of smoke lingers behind
as she bids farewell and returns to her luggage.

Eric Zadrozny has just finished his second year at Western University with a Specialization in English Literature and a Minor in Creative Writing.  He loves a good verse, chamomile tea, strong black coffee, mythical creatures, and trains.