LAST TRAIN

The station hushed in silence,
Blind as bat windows scan the rails,
Around the curve, a two-note prescience
Warns arrival of the clanking beast of Wales.
If raw metal grinds raw metal, tribology rules OK
And when the flier takes the corner
Forces centrifugal come into play.
Distrust the silence that follows raw violence
And the shock of its juddering might,
For with its crass and spread-eagled dithering,
The flier, as ever, destroys the peace of the night.
A clatter of silence arrests the broad platform,
Soon to be broken by the patter of feet
Of the one and only, lonely traveller
Who has, once again, not a soul to meet.
Last train of the day and no ceremony greets
The lonely flier with the cold empty seats.
Its entry, in splendour, largely ignored,
For there’s not one soul in sight to clamber aboard.