Transpoesie - Poems

On The Train

Cradled through England between flooded fields

rocking, rocking the rails, my head-phones on,

the black box of my Walkman on the table.

Hot tea trembles in its plastic cup.

I'm thinking of you waking in our bed

thinking of me on the train. Too soon to phone.

The radio speaks in the suburbs, in commuter towns,

in cars unloading children at school gates,

is silenced in dark parkways down the line

before locks click and footprints track the frost

and trains slide out of stations in the dawn

dreaming their way towards the blazing bone-ship.

The vodaphone you are calling

may have been switched off.

Please call later. And calling later,

calling later their phones ring in the rubble

and in the rubble of suburban kitchens

the wolves howl into silent telephones.

I phone. No answer. Where are you now?

The train moves homeward through the morning

Tonight I'll be home safe, but talk to me, please.

Pick up the phone. Today I'm tolerant

of mobiles. Let them say it. I'll say it too.

Darling, I'm on the train.