TRAIN FULL OF PORRIDGE:

One more early to the carpark, slot it in beneath the CCTV camera
& wave. Will the ticket machine work today or click & hum till 
it’s too late to catch the train, only to tell you it can’t 
read your card again? Running for to the ticket office hauling heavy 
bags reminding yourself to get back into training as soon as 
Christmas stuffing is over. Squeezing through automatic doors that 
choose today to switch to manual so that you have to fight with 
reluctant pistons, push against the laws of physics sending metal 
shuddering back into it’s brassy sheath as you force your way 
into the ticket hall. Every one looks round on crowded Monday where 
you find only one ticket window open & a queue backed up behind slow
probing questions about the price of travelling to obscure 
destinations on circuitous routes, specific to days spread out across 
months – a face you’ve never seen on this line before today. 
The impatient fidget, check watches, glance out the window & strain 
to hear rails hissing, heralding the arrival of a train they are 
condemned to miss. Instead, you smile, you grin & chuckle, 
feeling dust settle & the sound of buildings creak & click.
The world rushes past at speeds that hurt the ear & eye whilst you 
are being held, floating in gentle patterns – exactly where 
you’re meant to be, right here, right now, today  

(K)