This is a poem about my first trip to poland. I took a train from Warsaw to Torun (The birth place of Nicolaus Copernicus ) I was totally amased by the trains, they were like those in Agatha Christie stories. It just occured to me that the sound of the old fashioned steam train was like the word "Torun". So, say the name Torun like the chugging of a train. Insted of da.da.da.da....da.da.da.da....its' tor-run. tor-run, tor-run, tor-run.

Poland

Torun torun, torun torun, torun torun.

Strange train with shiny emboss leaf patterned emerald green curtains hanging in furrows on either side of the window.

Torun torun, torun torun, torun torun
Cushion couched compartment with double silver rail racks on both sides for luggage

Torun torun, torun torun, torun torun
Sleeping waking, sleeping waking, a shattered suited silver moustached man, my non-English speaking ‘companion’ for the journey.

Torun torun, torun torun, torun torun
Narrow walkways outside, through three carriages and past red curtains and smokers to the café

Torun torun, torun torun, torun torun
Several long, horizontal tall tables with maroon cloths overlaid with white lacy diamonds, spread the width of the carriage

Torun torun, torun torun, torun torun
Toilets with peddle flushers and thin lids that open to expose the fast flying rail tracks beneath.

Torun torun, torun torun, torun torun
Screeching brakes, hissing hydraulics. I move forward, then back against my couch and then, stop!

I’ve arrived in Torun