Train Now Leaving

THE TRAIN NOW LEAVING...

There was no obligation to go, yet I was there,
On the eight thirty five from the town, and my hair
Still wet from the shower,
Like the early-washed bodies smelt sweet;
A man from the night shift smelt rank, dead on his feet,
On the train with the rest of us,
Not even the best of us knew, what was in store,
The uproar, the chaos, the mess, the tears, the distress,
And the noise in my ears and the heat.

Next to me on the seat was a girl, mouthing goodbyes,
As the train left the station on time; O those sighs,
Sweet smiles, chubby knees,
Sleekly swathed in the neatly pressed skirt,
Smart, chic city coat on, pretty Miss, little flirt!
In the train with the rest of us,
Not even the best of us knew, what was to come,
The hum-drum, the bowler, the tweeds, the blood and the beads
Round the neck of the girl. His torn shirt

As he lay at the side of the track, crossword complete,
Umbrella ripped, smashed, ashes the grass; and the heat.
Bright shoes, handsome face,
Crushed and crumpled just like the wrecked train,
Wracked with pain and unseeing, one hand open wide,
Blasted out like the rest of us,
Not even the best of us knew, which way we'd go.
Who could know? Tiers of rent metal, bent wheels, and the calls;
Frightened passengers still trapped inside,

Voices seared through the gloom, shackles unseen held them
tight,
Till the rescuers came on the scene; Heaven's light
Blue flashed, sirens shrilled.
God-proof carriage stood high on its end,
Contorted, obscene. I didn't know if I'd died;
I, deceased like the rest of 'em?
Not even the best of 'em knew, who was alive,
Who'd survive. Who was departing this life, and who'd care,
Still the wheels slowly spinning... Aware
Of her fate, looking skyward she prayed;
Fear distorting her cries; and the heat,

pretty shoes,

little feet,

in the dirt...

(After Clapham)