Reflections from Middle Age

Out of the settling dusk
 It glides into the station
 A metal snake with screeching breath
 Disgorging a tumble of people from its warm belly
  
 I step inside the beast 
 Into air thick with a day’s activity, 
 Rigid ribs of seats hold weary bodies
 All wrapped up in virtual worlds
  
 A fetid tinge of alcohol, the rustle of a paper bag 
 Waft through the carriage 
  
 Beyond the reflections of heads bent on phones 
 Flickering images of night rush by 
 Darkness punctuated by red full stops 
 that leak from their edges 
 And bright rectangles of light, 
 Lined up like platoons, 
 In the clatter of a faster train
 On its own straight and narrow gauge
  
 The rhythmic clicking of machinery in action
 The beating heart of progress
 Slows to a reassuring hum
 And with a screech and the slight 
 bump of inertia 
 we arrive at a brightly lit station
  
 And I am myself disgorged 
 into the waiting arms of home.