The 15:23

Waiting on the platform of this old country station.
I stand at the edge and follow the tracks with my eyes
until they come to rest upon the little black birds playing upon the tracks.
Do they not know the 15:23 is due to arrive?
The big behemoth that it is will emerge from its tunnel
and have no pity on what lays before him.
And just as I think, I hear the track sing announcing the arrival of the 15:23.

The birds take flight, but they do not scarper in fright.
All they give is a little hop to the bush, where they peek from behind their shields of leaves as the monster grumbles by.

Upon the 15:23 I now sit, sat looking through the window,
waiting for the train to leave.
I ponder on the fate of the birds; I hope they will not be frightened,
too scared to return, forced from their place by a menacing fiend.
I pray they will return to take up from where they left,
to play in the footsteps of the beast that’s just passed,
and to realise they have nothing to fear if they’re ready for whatever may appear.
Then from the bushes I see one, two then three and more of the little black birds returning to the track to carry on the game they were playing
not 5 minutes before.