I am on the train from the airport,
Lights overhead through the slits in the ceiling,
A low glow; yellow, artificial
Like the big metal sky birds, lampposts in massive car parks,
Empty and full, the
Moon above
And beyond.
I am sat with my orange juice;
Sharp but fresh- at least for
Something from a stationers of course-
A sharpness that embitters the tongue
Which reminds me of days gone,
My teeth still stained a light hue
Of yellow,
Not from tobacco or coffee, no.
But from the concentrated cartons that I drank in my childhood
And now I am on the train from the airport.
HSBC ads lined the walls
Through the terminal
Talking of hope and innovation,
Making you believe you were destined for greatness,
For better,
But the giants lie
hide, scoff,
create, cross and cremate the causeway.
Extinguished one evening,
Persistent for darkened days,
And replaced as before.
Where does this train go?
It is pitch black through its windows.
Tunnels borne through the earth,
The stars in the sky are gone.
All of us here aspire for greatness,
For the journey to be steady and the
destination reached with excitement.
I do not know where it goes.
I am not awake.
As I am flung forward on this
Lonely train from the airport.
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