Rachel Underlay takes the 7:38 train
five days a week. Rain
makes the platform slick
or sunlight warms it up
or the ground gapes wide
and swallows the sky. Rachel
always checks the forecast
in the morning. She plans
her outfit accordingly.
The same faces change. Clean-shaven
suit’s consistent—he holds
his briefcase like he’s nursing it,
but kid with braces stopped being
a kid. The man with eyes made of teeth
who plays tricks on reality
is only there half the time.
The train’s delayed occasionally. Leaves
on the tracks
or signaling failure
or sometimes there’s an accident.
Red Flag
in the subject line makes clear the staff
party at Christmas is mandatory.
I picture BAD COLD spelled out all caps
on a sick note. This telephone voice
infringes on my inner monologue.
My anecdotes are no more my own,
were maybe never mine. Still
months till winter, but a cold spell
casts a long shadow. A thin line
between taxi and ambulance. Keep moving
is all there is. Direction
doesn’t matter. That fact
about sharks turned out
to not be true. I checked online
on the toilet. The paper
we have here scratches
at the tender parts of me.
Liam Bates
Liam Bates is a writer from the West Midlands, England, who's been previously published by Selcouth Station, Fly on the Wall Press, Shooter, Ellipsis Art and Literature and Constellate. His chapbook, microwave nouveau, received a special mention in the 2019 Saboteur awards and is available to buy online. He can be found on most social media @wordswithpurple.