whistlestop

 Whistlestop

There used to be a train station here it was busy

and many came from the village to see who was leaving or arriving

that was ok; it is nice to wave goodbye or

welcoming a relative that has been away too long and might have

picked up big city manners.

Then the ghost of privatization came, and the line was closed, but

there is a bus arriving twice a day, but lack romance

bus travel is so common everybody facing one way and no stretching

and pacing in the hall.

The train station was sold off as a dwelling and the terminal a garden

where, as we speak, a tourist was told to leave

he was pacing waiting for the last train to take him home and to

the airport; he had waited for twenty years.

Not that the wife of the house minded, she was a good hearted woman,

as long as he stood still he kept birds away and she

didn`t have to take him in when it rained he had an umbrella and was

happy when she bought him leftovers – she didn`t like dogs-.

Then a twilight day it happened a train stopped the tourist boarded,

 a whistle-stop you might say, the train never came back.

🌷 (2)

◄ Abortion

accidently Paris ►

Comments

Martin Elder

Sun 3rd Dec 2017 15:10

Great poem Oscar. It is such a shame that so many stations and lines have been closed when they are really needed with so much congestion on the roads. In some parts of the U.K. some lines have and are indeed being opened up fpr than just nostalgia reasons.

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