To the Airport

On this edge-of-town railway platform
the sky fights back
picks the outline of roofs
stepped, and a welcome curve.
It's shaded and dull,
home for half-an-hour,
a perforated metal bench,
sofa in front of the telly.
The kids run around shouting
not my kids.

We see four trains clank in,
fill up with beachfolk destined for Barry Island,
then roll out.

Next, ours arrives
but there's two boys
who tell the conductor
they want to go to the island,
and he won't tell them, but I do,
that they've got to change trains,
and they don't believe me
so I raise my voice a little,
but then two other passengers say the same
and off they get.
I don't expect a thank you,
don't get one.

~ ~ ~

Pair up, help each other relax

Rupert broke my back at singing classes
A crack as loud as a rifle in the forest

Sing through the pain was the phrase of the day
Well, some would call it singing

~ ~ ~