The train will take me

onwards, an electric hum

a bitter substitute

for the days of steam

and the loosely packed sandwich

that flirts suggestively

with the expiry date

and the unflavoured tea,

hot, sweet, dull as yesterday’s dishwater;

this journey will be different

to the one that we took when

fans in red and thick west

Lancashire accents

set fire to the carriage

and the driver sped on,

eating up miles in an attempt

to blow it out, steam train serenade.

This time

I see will see Plymouth

from a different, view, the Hoe

to be missed, the Lido

out of reach, Argyle

but a dream,

as the past is buried

under Dartmoor’s winter icy grip.

 

Ian D. Hall 2018