I’m not sure I like this poem quite as much as the last one because it doesn’t rhyme and works solely on the rhythm of the syllables. I wrote it around midnight last night on hearing the train race through Soham without stopping. Normally from my house, there’s no way you’d even know there was a railway line nearby, but last night the village was so quiet, you could even hear the wheels on the track. The poem is meant to be read in the rhythm of an old steam train building momentum and works best if read aloud. I hope it works.


My room is cold
I like it here
The glazing lets the train sound in.
The village – quiet – sleeping, still and
moving as I close my eyes, the gin
infusing as I watch the ceiling spin.
The train goes by, the train goes by.
Sleep. Sleep.