Anorak by Gillian Mellor

The first time he tried it on it felt all wrong.
So, he left it a while, studied pictures
in magazines before buying tickets to ride;
waited on draughty platforms hoping to make
connections. There were no names. He knew
them only by number. When he rode them
20002 whistled loudly, 37688 roared like a lion.

He bought himself a house by the lineside.
Slept by them, dreamt of them, threw
open sash windows to gawp at them,
took photos, joined forums, paid for
models, inhaled their scent: Diesel
and Heavy Braking his favourites.
He rattles off numbers of Virgins
bemoaning they pass by too fast.

Gillian Mellor lives near Moffat in Scotland. She has had poems published on and offline and can be traced to The Moffat Bookshop on the days they let her out.


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