Don’t you miss the 319?

The brutish sound of steel on steel.

A soulful choir’s roars and squeals,

That promised dreams beyond this line.

–

The narrow paths between the seats,

Coughing dust and worn threadbare.

The long nineties and Tony Blair,

Haunt the patterns of the fleet.

–

Doors beeped the same emphatic beep,

To much more brash, emphatic boys,

Who talked above the warning noise

That now just wards away their sleep.

–

We laughed across the table tops;

Youth carried through old England’s green.

It promised things we’d never seen

And led dreams towards their final stop.

–

I wait beside the busy tracks.

A ghost of that receding time,

Kept here by the yellow line

That never lets you back.