Get Your Premium Membership

Full Carriages Trundle On

I don't have a return ticket not sure if this train is coming from somewhere or going onward. In the next seat a 'mick' relative, we converse in a grunting verse. Rough hands caked with unspoken words indicate long pauses. On the move trying to recall something familiar, a town, a stretch of passing scenery. A once fractured memory, Some kid is beating a tin toy drum I think it is me, his short pants are dark blue, they are too tight; he is going to the seaside one day. The child is annoying. A journey battles on. it whistles through the bygone: will someone meet us in loco parentis? I am an outgrown poet full of the Irish, I am a jigsaw piece for the numbed seekers of unfilled holes. This is a video game, this is a play station with play passengers getting on and leaving. Bareboned is the bodkin that grooves a map far from anywhere. Passengers stare out of my window I begin to count the eyes. I have much time to ponder, to wonder if this rattling line has an end or perhaps has been pulled up long ago by ice Mammoths?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2022




Post Comments

Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.

Please Login to post a comment

A comment has not been posted for this poem. Encourage a poet by being the first to comment.