Breakfast on a train

Breakfast on a train

Talking to strangers

Brief encounters

Never forgot

Moments of pleasure

Respite as the world flies by

The romance of travel

Without being strapped in

Or leaving a seat

Unless moved from first class

When the nob with the top hat,

The big wig in the city

The pompous Bishop

With the mitre and orb

Giving his blessing

To a tenderloin

Asserts a right to privacy.

Never lose your ticket

The inspector calls

To clip it

I have seen people led away

By the scruff of the neck

For the price of a day-return

To Ealing Broadway.

Some watch as the world

Moves away

Or rushes toward them

The rattle of old rolling stock

The hum of electricity

The flicker of lights

As darkness comes

The noise of a tunnel

The silent reflection

Of the carriage in the window

A breeding ground for a Christie

Mystery.

The teacup is never filled to the brim

As the train sways

To the rhythm.

Even the drunk vicar

With a penchant

For fine French brandy

Finds his sea-legs

Locked in the loo

Dancing with the devil

An illicit rendezvous

For the tub-thumper

With the bible in his pocket

Love in his heart

And a soft spot for

Lightly freckled redheads,

Riding a peace train

To begin again

As a preacher teacher

In the highlands

Where time can be stilled

For a hundred years

And restarted with a

Song from Gene Kelly

So many tall tales

Yet to be told

London Bridge is yet to be sold

On the five-fifteen,

From Kings Cross

To Aberdeen.