Her Brother

a poem by Jan Oskar Hansen

It had been raining this late September
but the evening was warm
and streetlamps preened themselves on damp asphalt
when I walked passed the restaurant
that adjoins the railway station
and saw her
the woman I shall forever love.
She was there with her brother
a weasel of a man
a whisperer of half-truth
innuendoes and mendacity;
he was the cause of our breakup a year ago,
she was eating
but his rat eyes saw me
and ironically smiled,
leaned forward and murmured to her that I was outside,
but before she could look up I hastened away,
a wounded heart pounding wildly in my chest.
In a bar drank a double whisky
lit a cigarette inhaled deeply.
Back on the street again,
knew I had to talk to her,
if it hadn’t been for her brother,
I just had to ignore him
treat him like a piece of fluff
not worthy of my attention.
Years later someone told me
that he had drowned,
I’m sure he looked like a rodent
when they fished him out of the sea.
Inside, in the restaurant’s cloakroom,
I lit another cigarette
before strolling nonchalant into the dining area.
They weren’t there
a waiter told me that they had left
through the door leading onto the terminals.
Hastened down the platform to where locomotive,
a magnificent black beauty blowing steam
a year later they electrified that line
the iron horse was left to rust in a shunting yard.
A whistle blow “All On Board”
the conductor waved a green flag
the train began moving,
first slowly then faster and faster,
and I saw them sitting by the window
she was reading,
didn’t look up,
he did
and smiled triumphantly.