From Interview With a Farmer

A Woman Waiting

If he's not on the next train I'll leave.
My watch says half past four
and he'll step off the next train
and smile and wave and kiss me through
the chain-link fence.
In the darkness behind my eyes
he lives in a moment of film,
a smile and a wave and a wink
and an echo of a voice:
Je t'aime, je t'aime, je t'aime.
If he's not on the next train I'll leave
because he's probably never left Paris.
The sun is hot in the south
of France and I'll be damned
if I'll wait much longer in fact
if he's not on the next train I'll leave.
I'm finding it difficult to swallow
and breathe in my normal rhythm
as the train clatters in
and rumbles away.
Birds outnumber people here -
when he comes he'll be able to find me.
But my watch only says half past four -
If he's not on the next train I'll leave.

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