Stephen Robertson

Slanting Lines

Long ago

The railway line passes near.

After the engine’s noisy roar,

coaches follow along the track:

the bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.

At night, the glow and flying sparks.

Grass on the lineside banks is marked

with smears of fires, burnt and black.

The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.

On holiday by train!  Vast hall

of city station, noisy, full

of people rushing there and back.

The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.

First we go to the front to see

the engine, wheels bigger than me—

a great big monster, steaming, black.

The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.

Telephone wires through the pane

loop lazily along and then

greet each pole like a jumping jack.

The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.

Raindrops slanting across the glass.

We jump at a sudden sound-blast—

another train on the next track.

The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.

Country station: we clamber down.

The whistle blows, the train moves on,

the guard’s van trundles at the back.

The bogeys go: click-clack click-clack.