This poem was inspired by my regular commuter trips into Wellington. Wellington Station is quite beautiful, and becomes a hub of activity at peak times when people are filing into the express supermarket, in line for ticket purchases, wanting to register items at the lost and found desk, and generally rushing to get to work on time. If in your own busyness you pause and take a moment to look, really look, you will observe the people who aren’t rushing. They are sitting quietly on benches observing, almost as if they are basking in the lives and energy of the crowd – seeking to absorb some for themselves.
They are the buskers who’s set have ended with only a handful of coins, the people with no particular place to be. The people who need to get out of their small Council flats, or the off the cold concrete of the city’s hidden sleeping places.
Loneliness sits on a bench at the railway station Let me have a moment of your time We could talk about life, politics, any topic would be fine There is so much I want to say I've been saving up for today I could tell you about Ralph, the dog I used to own I had to give him up when I lost my home There are so many questions I have for you What's your name, what do you do? Where are you from? Are you staying here long? But I sit here quietly Keeping my words just to me I know the social rules The don'ts, some of the 'does' People don't smile or make eye contact anymore They walk quickly from differences, wishing to ignore We are like individual cells in the honeycomb Separated by walls, part of the same home. Where are you from? Are you staying here long? The metal bench is starting to become uncomfortable You know, they design them that way, it's intentional The pigeons are flying around the atrium ceiling I am just sitting here, lost in a feeling I should leave and go for a walk Put headphones on so I can talk To an imaginary friend Questions I will to ask them: Where are you from? Are you staying here long?