A Man Sits On a Train
A man sits on a train
Waiting or at least hoping for an e-mail
He stares at the laptop that sits atop his lap
With unwavering concentration
As the train pulls out of the city
The morning sky is shot with scarlet shards
On aquamarine
The countryside flies by
In beauteous early summer shades
Pigeons and foxes
And sleepy thatched hamlets
After a while the train slows
And through the picket fences beyond platform A
The man’s childhood friends can be seen
Jumping from swings and on to the roundabout
Joyous in holiday freedom
If only he could avert his eyes
And then gone
On through mill town
O’er tall gothic bridges
Steeples and black glass tower blocks
To red brick leafy suburbs
Corner pubs and smoking chimneys
Faded metal hoardings and avenues prim
Further down the line
The train slows again
And on the green wood bench across the tracks
Sits the woman loved and lost
Alone and smiling sweet as honey
Eyes closed in warm meditation
Just a call away
But the man remains silent
Transfixed and determined
The train meanders through mountains of grandeur
Past star sparkle rivers and fairytale forests
Shoreline, glen and tunnels of steam
That all remain unseen
When the train slows again
The man’s mother looks out through the waiting room window
A pale and all loving dewy eyed angel
Who waves in sweet resignation
At her son who sits on the train
Evening bows to night as the train rumbles on
Streetlight reflected on the shower fresh streets
The moon makes silhouette of distant woods and cooling towers
‘til dark clouds extinguish it’s gaze
Eventually the train grinds towards its halt
And as it does
Suddenly
There in the inbox
– Ping!
Double clicked his eyes eagerly scan the message
Which simply reads
“you have reached your destination”
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