Eyes squint, brow creased

Why these stations so fekin’ dark!

Minds me full of Chicken Town

A works by poet said

Though cynics have always scorned my choices

As uncouth and poorly read.

As hands wander lazily around an ancient

Well worn station clock

I return to Mr Clarke again

Yet my mind hears the clock’s

Tic Toc Tic Toc

And the more I read Kung Fu International

The clock’s interruptions increasingly drop

As trains are always beyond time and reason

En route to your tiny stop.

And admitting defeat to the clock’s infectious persona

I tour platforms 1 thru four

As pigeons descend to assert their rule

Like the tide upon the shore

Every bill board is scrutinised

For bland nothing information

As the clock chirps up and again I condemn

It to hell and a great damnation

And with rhythmic hum I hear the clunks

Of steel on steel afar

Blue salvation lights ablaze

A solitary, two cars.

And the clock sighs and goes back to rest

As eyes no longer strain

Willing, wishing its hands would move

Pulling in this long awaited train.

And boarding I give back a glance

Until next time old clock

And time it says is always mine

And time will never stop!!!