Under the clock at Glasgow Central –
Where once the flower kiosk had offered bunches of romance,
Get-well wishes and forgiveness –
They had agreed to meet,
As afterall where could be more public?
Under the clock at seven to chat
Over coffee and a wee patisserie.
Her red-soled clicky-clacky heels approached
Heralding that gentle hip sway,
That promised much.
Her scarlet lips broke into a grin
When she spotted his red-spotted hanky
As if the six foot six black man, under the clock
In the end-of-day travel stramash
Wouldn’t have been enough.