THE TRAIN I AM NOT TRAVELING ON

 

The train I have not travelled on slowed as it neared the town,

The wheels’ tempo down to lento and below;

From deference it has crawled across the restored viaduct

And come to rest at the platform next to the local services.

 

There it has exhaled, and clicked like matter cooling.

I know it from its habits which, for all that time,

Were intertwined with mine, and therefore yours  as well.

I need no schedule to know the ongoing line of its life.

 

The train I have not travelled on empties out and waits,

Fairly certain from the years of previous evidence

It will retrace the track to its terminus of origin,

Approaching all the landmarks from the opposite side,

 

The sharp hill shallow now, the square factory flat,

Negotiating the reverse of expectation,

A climbing down of sleepers and then the reclamation

And gathering back by the mass which was its mission to leave.

 

The train I am not travelling on prepares to leave the station.

The guard whistles needlessly, the doors cheep and shut.

The usual shopper asks to stop at the usual stop

Where the usual car is waiting, and in it the usual husband.

 

The train I am not travelling  on continues round the coast

At the usual point coming within hearing of your house.

You are aware of its passing, the clack of it lapsing on the causeway

To the still present emptiness of the estuary beyond.