trained
slow lurch
trundle
clatter
screech to another
halt
the carriage shakes
gently
slowly
from side to side
a soft hiss
silence
the doors stay
… locked
the windows sealed
as we wait
wait
wait
wait … for
something
patient resignation
there is nothing outside
not even walls
not even an absence
nothing
if there's a destination
no-one knows
perhaps this is it
here in this hollow void
we don't talk
we don't touch
why would we?
but from the carriage end
one person
smiles
so face we
the rest
the others
the unforgiven
we crack and
shatter
another subterranean lurch
the train moves on
“next stop is.”
8th February 2020 from Hull Poetry & Creative Writing Group
