Spine-tingling railway sleepers;
Sleepy houses lying four-square and firm.
Orange beams divide the darkness,
Rumbling fit to turn the waking warm.
Sliding through Victorian tunnels
Where green moss oozes from the pores.
Dull echoes from the wet embankments,
Battlefield allotments, fresh-open sores.



In late night commuter madness,
Double-locked black briefcase on the floor
Like a faithful dog with master,
Sleeping in the draught beside the carriage door.
To each journeyman his own home-coming;
Cold supper nearing with each station stop.
Frosty flakes on empty platforms,
Fireside slippers waiting, flip, flop.

Journeyman night tripping on the late fantastic;
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross
And hear the soft shoeson the footbridge shuffle
As the wheels turn, biting on the midnight frost.

On the late commuter special,
Carriage lights that flicker, fade and die.
Howling into hollow blackness,
Dusky diesel shudders in full cry.
Down redundant morning papers,
Abandon crossword with a cough.
Stationmaster, in his wisdom
Told the guard to turn the heating off.

Journeyman night tripping on the late fantastic;
Too late to stop for tea at Gerrards Cross
And hear the soft shoeson the footbridge shuffle
As the wheels turn, biting on the midnight frost.