stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 14063
    [post_author] => 4
    [post_date] => 2014-08-08 18:03:02
    [post_date_gmt] => 2014-08-08 18:03:02
    [post_content] => Two women wipe back sweat
Beneath their flat caps
At the station on the main line;

The weeping, the waiting, the working.

Intrepid lady steers
Her tram-car at dusk
Towards the city-limits;

The weeping, the waiting, the working.

A bus-driver sips hot milk
At the close of a dusty day;

The working, the waiting, the weeping.

Five girls on production line,
With sulphurous hands and owlish eyes,
Smiling round their gritted teeth.

Toil fills up their shell-hole hearts;

The watching, the working, the waiting.

In a small London suburb a century ago,
The telegraph boy wends his way in the dark
To a white head and a rocking chair.

Like sea-bathers treading water before sunrise,
Waiting.

Like Penelope fretting lonely at her loom,
Waiting.

Like a lover half-asleep on the hearth rug,
Her hair lit up like a landing-flare
In the darkling hush of the evening:

Watching. Working. Waiting.
    [post_title] => Marylebone Station, 1914
    [post_excerpt] => 
    [post_status] => publish
    [comment_status] => closed
    [ping_status] => closed
    [post_password] => 
    [post_name] => marylebone-station-1914
    [to_ping] => 
    [pinged] => 
    [post_modified] => 2016-11-29 15:01:52
    [post_modified_gmt] => 2016-11-29 15:01:52
    [post_content_filtered] => 
    [post_parent] => 0
    [guid] => http://poems.poetrysociety.org.uk/?post_type=poems&p=14063
    [menu_order] => 0
    [post_type] => poems
    [post_mime_type] => 
    [comment_count] => 0
    [filter] => raw
    [meta_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [wpcf-published-in] => 
            [wpcf-date-published] => 2014
            [wpcf-summary-description] => This poem was a winner in the Freud Challenge on Young Poets Network (YPN) in 2014.
            [wpcf-rights-information] => 
            [wpcf-poem-award] => Winner, Freud Challenge 2014
            [wpcf_pr_belongs] => 
        )

    [poet_data] => stdClass Object
        (
            [ID] => 5295
            [forename] => 
            [surname] => 
            [title] => Phyllida Jacobs
            [slug] => phyllida-jacobs
            [content] => Phyllida Jacobs is a winner of the Young Poets Network 'Shakespeare's shoes' challenge and a runner up for the inaugural Timothy Corsellis prize.
        )

)
stdClass Object
(
    [ID] => 5295
    [forename] => 
    [surname] => 
    [title] => Phyllida Jacobs
    [slug] => phyllida-jacobs
    [content] => Phyllida Jacobs is a winner of the Young Poets Network 'Shakespeare's shoes' challenge and a runner up for the inaugural Timothy Corsellis prize.
)

Marylebone Station, 1914

Phyllida Jacobs

Two women wipe back sweat
Beneath their flat caps
At the station on the main line;

The weeping, the waiting, the working.

Intrepid lady steers
Her tram-car at dusk
Towards the city-limits;

The weeping, the waiting, the working.

A bus-driver sips hot milk
At the close of a dusty day;

The working, the waiting, the weeping.

Five girls on production line,
With sulphurous hands and owlish eyes,
Smiling round their gritted teeth.

Toil fills up their shell-hole hearts;

The watching, the working, the waiting.

In a small London suburb a century ago,
The telegraph boy wends his way in the dark
To a white head and a rocking chair.

Like sea-bathers treading water before sunrise,
Waiting.

Like Penelope fretting lonely at her loom,
Waiting.

Like a lover half-asleep on the hearth rug,
Her hair lit up like a landing-flare
In the darkling hush of the evening:

Watching. Working. Waiting.