Thursday, 12 September 2013
He plods, and asks, for ‘tickets please’
beneath this old train roof;
alarms are hanging from the eves
- and passengers are safe.
People turn and smile and look
(outside, a shocking sea)
this train is traveling to a stop
wherever we will be
and, in each carriage, swinging doors
so I could saunter through
and talk or pay, or sleep or play,
or curl in my cocoon?
The driver knows the route we take
but only he can see
our spiral west into the dark
on a ticket for today.