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Dave Gledhill
Poems
Mar 2012
The Journey
This train home is twice delayed,
it's ******* up the plans I've made
and in the pub I wish I'd stayed.
It's still not here yet.
I have no doubt when it comes soon,
I'll have to endure a banging tune -
from the Ipod of some drunken buffoon,
It's still not here yet.
I sometimes wish that I'd take wing -
Like Icarus or a feathered thing,
That builds its nest from twigs and string.
It's still not here yet.
I suppose in time we'll own a car
and avoid all those bizarre -
excuses from the conductor.
It's still not here yet.
In time we'll take drives to the beach
and let a wild dog off the leash,
while the sea wind steals our speech.
It's still not here yet.
We'll have a garden for barbeques,
with potted plants and stunning views
and comfy chairs in which to snooze,
but we're not there yet.
Written by
Dave Gledhill
45/M/Yorkshire
(45/M/Yorkshire)
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