Slouched in a hoodie the boy sleeps,
His bag nearby on the seat.
Hanging open, it reveals its secrets –
Cheap tobacco, old magazines and dirty clothes.
Where else but the night train would two such strangers meet? –
Though here on the night train all such meetings must be fleet.
The train jolts, he wakes, plugs music into his ears,
Ignores the dark and danger.
No cares, no hopes, no foolish fears,
In his purple hood hiding his face,
Speeding onto a different place.
A voice speaks out – the next stop is nigh,
And he rises from his reclining pose,
Staggering on the lurching floor,
Grabbing his bag and staggering again.
The door opens and he goes,
The first of four – but where, who knows?
While I was typing up the first part of this, ‘Night Train‘, I realised that it would be a good opportunity to try out something that I’ve been wanting to do for a while – an extended poem in several parts. I’d be pleased to hear what you all think of this – do you have any more interesting tales of travelling on the train at night?
I hope that this finds you in good health,
The Hapless Neo-Romantic