I raced to catch the London-bound eight fifty-two.

 

It pulled out slowly from unseen moorings

Slowly, slow, fast, faster, faster.

Those on the station waved enthusiastically

At those seated aboard,

Who waved back, less exuberantly.

Through dark-tinted glass, they peered.

The finality of their excitement, a mere hour away

Whilst mine should be a lot sooner.

The announcer reminded all the passengers.

There would be no stops before London.

With a journey time of just fifty-five minutes.

The weather today was sunny, at seventy-seven degrees.

Though some dark clouds have appeared on the horizon.

 

Apple and Buddleia trackside, raced backwards,

As the train speedily arrowed onwards

Cutting through the summer heat like a guillotine.

Telegraph poles whizzed by to become the past.

Wires rhythmically dancing, down, up, then down again.

Full throttle through local stations, where those waiting

Become absorbed into the high-speed vortex.

Stepping back from the edge for fear of attraction.

On board the buffet cart, trundled down the aisle.

Tea, coffee, biscuits and cake, exorbitantly priced.

Time travelled on. The train slid past green-fringed fields.

Tall yellow masses waved in the slight breeze.

Watered by dike-fed high-pressure hoses  

All of which was disregarded by passengers 

Whose focus was on their phones, reading or talking.

Children climbed seats or ran up the gangway.

 

As I left this morning, I heard Mum shout, “I love you”.

I didn’t reply, how could I?

How could I tell her I loved her, too?

No time if I were to meet the eight fifty-two

How could I say “I love you” when I was leaving?

Leaving for good, forever, not coming home.

In the distance, I could hear tractors working

Summer birds chirped as they swooped 

Military and holiday jets roared overhead.

The rumbling on the track 

Surely has to be the eight fifty-two.

 

Suddenly and without warning, the passengers were thrown.

Bags, computers, and ‘mobiles’ were catapulted.

Coffee and tea swamped the air around

Young and old hurled from their seats

Groans and moans from mothers and children alike

Injuries sustained may take a while to heal

 

As for me, I will not heal

Just around the bend, as planned

I had met the Eight fifty-two, 

With a tear-flushed face, 

I had met the Eight fifty-two, head-on

The driver had no chance to brake

Like many winged bugs that had perished before

I would become another washable front-screen stain

 

With an eternal journey time of just seconds

The weather today, as every other day, was overcast 

Though some brighter clouds appeared on the horizon.

“I loved you too, Mum”