By Parson Thru
I love these fucking trains.
They’ve snaked their way across these tracks
since when I sat beside the Ouse,
the Yorkshire one,
watching prototypes on Tollerton straight.
Thoughts cast into undertow,
lost in never-ending flow,
I heard them screaming past.
rusted, rippled, patched-up,
beaten the crap out of by RENFE, TGV and ICE,
they've had their day.
But when I need to get back home,
tired, all burned out,
I’d rather ride one of these than anything else.
So quiet I forget the bullshit,
stare into the window's oily pool and dream.
Or pull my book out and be someplace else.
Sit me on a train and watch me slip away.