My father

I always think of you

as the train pulls into westgate

friday evenings

my return from a life far away

waiting on the platform to greet me

summer

your tanned arms in shirtsleeves

steady and strong

the sun fast sinking on the day

but no fair weather friend

you’d wait for me in frostbitten air

breath like smoke suspended

in a sky already black

beyond the glow of the station lights

hands deep in your pockets

stamping your feet to keep warm

the stillness of the dense night

waiting to be disturbed by the train on the track

you could have waited in the car

out of the cold with the radio on

but your never did

and I’ll always be glad of that

reunited linking arms

you’d take my bag

and ask if I wanted fish and chips

on the way home

life’s lesson

that it is the simplest of things

that are often the most precious

all these years and I still remember that

and think of you, my father,

every time the train pulls in.

—R.Leadill

instagram - @rach_writes_poems