I used to commute by train to work and back, every day; no more. |
Train Dream I hear that lonesome whistle from my sooty seat inside I see the back yards flitting by despondent and dirty. Do people live there? What a mess. I try to sleep, Clackety clack, clackerty clack Clackerty clack. I daydream in air conditioned comfort green forests flash by snow covered mountains peek through clearings the stewardess brings another scotch on the rocks That yard is a disgrace so close to a station. Surely someone will come and remove the junk. Even the washing on the line is dirty. The snow covered mountains deign to show their splendour, how beautifull, how utterly beautiful, how cold. I take another sip of scotch. The carriage door opens they tromp in oblivious of me hordes of the great unwashed have arrived battered luggage, squealing kids gravel voiced mothers. The train shudders into motion Clackety clack, clackerty clack. I wonder what sort of trees they are, those in the forest. The stewardess returns with a message “Would Sir be dining in the Club Car?” Those kids are eating like pigs sandwiches from a squashed bag, meat pies. And some other stuff I can’t identify. the floor like a back yard the Club Car damn it, they are fighting now, I see my stop coming up, I have to Dream on Trains. |