A ten-minute halt.
Through the window
a flight of steps
leading down to the platform.
Nobody on it.
Nothing.
Not an emperor
with his cortege
leading a triumphal procession.
Not a train of camels
carrying spices
stepping down delicately
with their precious load.
No brass band.
Not a ball, bouncing,
or a pram
like in that film.
The steps remain resolutely empty.
Not even a bloody passenger.
As we pull out
the steps and I exchange glances.
Oh, well,
some days are like that . . .
Only the steps
have a funny look in their eye.
Do I hear,
for a moment,
a thundering
like a herd of wildebeeste
approaching from Platform 3?
Probably not.