A feeling not unlike depression
washes through me as I wait on
the platform
the five forty seven is yet again delayed
and now I am too.

There's a wind blowing in from Harwich and it cuts to the marrow
of my bones.

Why not a penalty fare when the train is not there
on time?

I question
I question
a succession of questions
a procession of questions
I fixate on the questions
while I wait for the train.

And then it arrived
they all cheered
I tried
but couldn't.

It's programming
designed to put you down
and slam you in

This country is as wasted
as the people I see who
travel in this carriage with me

they're all asleep and can't see me screaming.