I sit back

I sit back

Facing forward

I wish to see where I’m going

I know where I’ve been.

The train smells of bleach

With a tang of pickle

From the half-eaten cheese and ham sandwich

On the table

Between me and

The pasty-faced boy

With the wayward eye

Pretending to play Minecraft

Whilst ogling the young thing

Across the aisle.

He didn’t realise that he had

A splodge of Branston

On the corner of his mouth

Just beneath the pimple

With the angry swelling.

I could tell that she knew

He was interested

But she was not,

Turning her head away

To gaze at the flashing greenery

The maze of fields

That dominates the English scenery

On the North Eastern line.

He had no chance of passing her

Or anybody else’s field test

Until he tamed his hair

Scrubbed his face

And upgraded his game

The outcome would always be the same.

Abject failure.

The ticket collector didn’t care

Just as long

As you had paid your fare

And were properly seated.

Although, not in first class

Which was always available

But invariably empty.

I was close to the buffet car

Where a commercial traveller

Stood, swaying, along

With the train

Drinking whisky and coke

Whilst making a joke

About British Rail food

It must have been rude

As a crusty old gent

Shook his head

And a warty dowager

Wearing too much rouge

Turned bright red.

I settled in for the duration

Smiling, in my distraction

At the complex nature

Of even the most fleeting

Of social interactions

In this

Still endearing

Post-industrial Nation

As the train sped North

From the newly refurbished

Kings Cross

In London

To the old concourse

Of Newcastle Central station.