The Married Couple Now Waiting To Depart

Are running sixty (six zero)
minutes late. His carnation

has been daubed with cylinder
oil, her garter snagged on a wheel.

Because Adam's a novice
he took lessons from Reverend Crisp -

a crank pin and a virgin driver's hat
his prize to wear in the cab.

"I worry about slowing down
at blind junctions. I fear the

unseen signals operator: is he
a friend ? Or a foe ?"

Her parents gave them
a throttle lever.

Adam said he liked it.
She knew he was lying.

The loco shunts alongside
the platform: the best man

idling in his best iron suit.
By the fire box, Aunt Jeanie

smoulders a fag and re-enacts
great railway films from the past,

bites into the cherry of her
Great Western cocktail.

"What can I tempt you with ?"
growls stationmaster 'Elvis' Jones

"A one-way ticket to Abbergeveny ?
Or a day-trip to Hearbreak Hotel ?"

A sudden burst of steam - a secret message
from the dome: Next stop Honeymoon Ridge.

"Will you love me ?" whispers Mrs Adam
"every second of every day ?"

Her white dress billows
by the heat of the fire,

the scent of steam and gas
her secret aphrodisiac.

Adam winks at his new wife
and takes a rag to the flue:

the pre-lubed squeeze of a piston rod
affirms his answer.

As they check the carriages,
take in the responsibility -

the buffet car, the dog on the track,
the inevitable fault on the line -

they wonder if there's a
parting of the ways

soon after the first tunnel.
If only stationmaster Jones

would run his fingers through his quiff
and wave his statonmaster's flag

they could kiss, put the loco
in gear, and travel

this ancient wide-gauge
road as one.