There’s a locomotive standing on a siding,
consumed by rust, overgrown with thistles.
When it rains, she cries, brown tears.
I walk alongside her, touch her,
say something to her, something encouraging,
climb up onto the remains of a footboard.
A clock strikes in the distance.
Perhaps I am a prince. You never know!
Perhaps this could just be Sleeping Beauty.
Little luvvy loco... open your eyes...!
The sun is high in the sky.
‘Hey!’ they call out. ‘Ho!’ ‘Wait a moment!’ and ‘Stop!’
But we move off and hear nothing and no one any more.