Whistlestop
There used to be a train station here it was busy
and many came from the village to see who was leaving or arriving
that was ok; it is nice to wave goodbye or
welcoming a relative that has been away too long and might have
picked up big city manners.
Then the ghost of privatization came, and the line was closed, but
there is a bus arriving twice a day, but lack romance
bus travel is so common everybody facing one way and no stretching
and pacing in the hall.
The train station was sold off as a dwelling and the terminal a garden
where, as we speak, a tourist was told to leave
he was pacing waiting for the last train to take him home and to
the airport; he had waited for twenty years.
Not that the wife of the house minded, she was a good hearted woman,
as long as he stood still he kept birds away and she
didn't have to take him in when it rained he had an umbrella and was
happy when she bought him leftovers – she didn't like dogs-.
Then a twilight day it happened a train stopped the tourist boarded,
a whistle-stop you might say, the train never came back.

Wheeling our way around the continent
On an eight wheeled whistlestop tour
We sample cities with bite-sized sightings
But our bites are big because it's our choice to make
Walking in wonder until even wheelchair weakens
And our legs are limp from exploratory ache
​
And our bites are big because also
We share the same love of sampling food
So we get a daily dose of deliciousness
Healing our hunger with what locals bake
Too much temptation here to watch waistlines
We want to try every traditional taste
​
And our bites are bigger come tea time
Once we've crossed country again by day
From breakfast we watch out the window
And wander new place on the way
Miles mounting high on the dashboard
On our mission for mobility's sake
​
And so we've had a big bite of Europe
Big bite and plenty bites each day
These bites are teasing our tastebuds
We want more world at a later stage
​

Big brother; surveilled; rat runs of pounds;
Instaweb orbs, tendrils confound,
Face timely chats across coded binary,
Clocked on, logged in let it begin;

Around and around the wheels about town,
The daily homage to tubes underground,
Whistlestop lunches, lanyards and passes,
Payslip available labour force saleable.

PIN, Password, Face recognition,
Upload, drawn down, robotic volition,
Subdural naked forced aspirations,
Chasing dragons of faked motivation.

Push and chug and push and chug,

The relentless surge of more from above,
Steady inbound for disembarkation,
Life's sourjourn of self realisation.

not life
just the town

in its scale model glory
a whistlestop

where every joke has
a punchline

and business is finished
on the day it's initiated

and nothing dangles
like a pesky past participle

Whit Howland © 2020