Delay, well, travellers must expect 
Delay. For how long? No one seems to know. 
With all the luggage weighed, the tickets checked, 
It can't be long... We amble too and fro, 
Sit in steel chairs, buy cigarettes and sweets 
And tea, unfold the papers. Ought we to smile, 
Perhaps make friends? No: in the race for seats 
You're best alone. Friendship is not worth while. 

Six hours pass: if I'd gone by boat last night 
I'd be there now. Well, it's too late for that. 
The kiosk girl is yawning. I fell stale, 
Stupified, by inaction - and, as light 
Begins to ebb outside, by fear, I set 
So much on this Assumption. Now it's failed.

Added: Feb 20 2003 | Viewed: 3621 times | Comments (0)

Poet: Philip Larkin
Poem: Autobiography At An Air-Station

Year: Published/Written in 1953
Poem of the Day on:
Aug 9 2003
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