The deal

THE DEAL

"Do not give up this seat if the person next to you needs to talk.
We can all be Samaritans." - Ad on trains, April 2004

Do not give up this seat if the person next to you sounds thick.
We can all be imparters of culture.
Do not give up this seat if the person next to you sounds rich.
We can all be hangers-on.
Do not give up this seat if the person next to you sounds foreign.
We can all be counter-intelligence.
Do not give up this seat if the person next to you is writing.
We can all be publishers.
Do not give up this seat if the person next to you has a heart-attack.
We can all be first-aiders.
Do not give up this seat if the person next to you dies.
We can all be at their funeral.
Do not give up this seat if the person next to you has shot an albatross.
We can all be wedding-guests.

Let them confess, if otherwise they'll burst.
But here's the deal for strangers on a train.
A must assume that A is not the first,
and not the last, to hear B tell B's pain.
The risk is B's: the ear that B has found
might not be dangerous, or, then, it might;
rising no wiser, A will not be bound
to keep B's story dark, nor B's load light.

The above poem from 2004 is a runner-up in the Newark Poetry Society's 2010 competition. Not quite published, therefore, but I reckon I have excuse enough for blogging it. The other runners-up include C.J. Allen and Margaret Gleave, so I'm in good company.