The railway carriage, a lurching labyrinth

of doors corridors people crabbed in passing

had stopped with its locomotive up front

fuming with rage

held back by down signal  on our cage

of viaduct leaning into a curve.

 

The day boiled, the rails hissed in waiting.

I looked at the street below active

and unaware of us.

Up close the racks and maps, smiling hills in pastels

all trapped in with heat induced sleep,

some heads back, mouths open

some forward losing the vertical.

 

Suddenly the great cheeks filled

blew out their brains through pipes,

little by little the window inched along the girders

the diagonals rising and falling

eyelids fluttered, heads came straight

and I was still only a boy in love

with every passing moment.