fogged at the tram park

By JupiterMoon

Mon, 13 Oct 2014
  • 1250 reads
1 comments
 

fogged at the tram park

 

 

blank faced machines,

nestled like eels

the shivering hiss

of electric snaking

through the air as an alarm call.

 

travel,

fogged at the tram park.

a morning of not knowing,

stark with fading dreams

of emeralds.

 

back to the place,

where a light shone strong,

for the shortest time;

now the town feels cardboard,

and emptied; like being made

to return to the scene

of a crime.

 

i don’t want to become

the well-dressed

white-faced man,

fatigued with tears,

riding the Sunday tram

creased and alone.

 

fingertips pressed to the cold glass

watching warm, wonderful

family homes pass;

hopes jarring together

like old, autumn bone. 

Certificate U
Poem
Hear the Hush of the Axe Behind You
Romance
Autobiography

Comments

Submitted by JupiterMoon on

Thank you Parson. It's a weird brew of many things at once - it was inspired by the contrast of passing the tram depot near Altrincham in Manchester, all the trams still and silent, at the same time as seeing the early Sunday riders on the tram I was on, sad and solitary, moving; yet somehow still. I had made the same journey the week before for a much brighter reason and there was something in the juxtaposition of hope remembered and the fear of an empty future.