Autobiography At An Air-Station
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.
Poem by
Philip Larkin
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