Spine-tingling railway sleepers

Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm.

Orange beams divide the darkness



Rumbling fit to turn the waking worm.

Sliding through Victorian tunnels

where green moss oozes from the pores.

Dull echoes from the wet embankments

Battlefield allotments. Fresh open sores.



In late night commuter madness

Double-locked black briefcase on the floor,

like a faithful dog with master

sleeping in the draught beside the carriage door.

To each Journeyman his own home-coming

Cold supper nearing with each station stop

Frosty flakes on empty platforms

Fireside slippers waiting. Flip. Flop.



Journeyman night-tripping on the late fantasic

Too late to stop for tea at Gerard's Cross

and hear the soft shoes on the footbridge shuffle

as the wheels turn biting on the midnight frost.

On the late commuter special

Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die

Howling into hollow blackness

Dusky diesel shudders in full cry.

Down redundant morning papers

Abandon crosswords with a cough

Stationmaster in his wisdom

told the guard to turn the heating off