Locomotion

Clock hands creep at a very slow rate
at the station full of people who wait,
peering anxiously down the line
hoping their train will arrive on time.
Checking their watches,
checking their bags,
checking the details on the name tags.

Holiday makers with buckets and spades,
cool operators in sharp suits and shades.
Mobiles jangle and shatter the nerves
of commuters travelling from the 'burbs;
Carrying laptops,
carrying 'brollies,
swerving to miss the porter's trolleys.

The distant thunder down the track
as travellers leave and then come back.
The clank of wheels as they hurtle by;
the mournful echo of the horn's cry.
Where are you going?
How long will you be?
Will you ever come back to me?