Stanzas: Monthly Chapbooks April 2015: The Fool | Page 5

Station
Nina O’Donovan
‘Like a drowned man, a fool and a mad man:
one draught above heat makes him a fool;
the second mads him; and a third drowns him.’
— Feste, ‘Twelfth Night’ by William Shakespeare
Pulling into Colbert on a mid-week afternoon,
I stride through drifts of passengers falling
from each carriage.
Inside, they deck the station out
in wait like chess figures. I leave as soon as I arrive.
Blessed with rain again,
pestering the roof tiles, great sweeps
of grey water
dash each street. Across,
a building’s squared face, chipped bottle green.
Namelessly familiar,
my hermitage.
I enter half-drowned.
I place myself on mark at the bar,
flanked by fellow veterans. To my left, a lowered head,
the dark hide of a colt
retired early from his race.
Right,
a creased face and suit I dimly recognise.
Before my eyes adjust, I limply
raise my hand—
few fingers outstretched, Christlike. A head bows
in response. He moves
to draw a black slick glass;
a tarred trickle, foam-topped like stormed wave.

5