Voiture

I’ve written creatively like the below before, but this seems different. Anyway, enjoy. Make it of what you will, but some of the wordplay I’m quite proud of.

As he gets on, the train wobbles – his lumbering figure causing the frame to shake. A blue Adidas T-shirt hugging his undulating rolls. Gold chain wrapped round his neck supporting the hulk of a head. The plastic carriage parting rattles as he missteps into it sending another rhythmic shudder through the train.

A young couple, legs entwined, sigh. Mumbled jokes, imitation train noises, sharing the tracks of love. Sunglasses, spiked hair, synthetic ringtone. Passé cool so hard it has to be fake.

The jingle of the train station warns people to step from the platform edge. The cough of a British tourist. The tangy music of headphones played too loud. iPad, iPhone, iCarcassonne.

Cracked pavement, worn platforms, sun baked rails. Clip clop: heels or horse. The steel stallion drawing its cargo.

Dropbox, in the South of France. A beautiful day, lovely scenery and discussions of cloud storage. Not a cloud in the sky, the data of good memories stored remotely. Blue Screen of Sky. Tourists, or the modern era lamenting against those that rustically indulge. Google the answer.

No-one talks, instead hardwiring themselves into handheld anti-communication. As technology brings the world closer, the world moves further apart.

It’s a runaway train, an express to dulled humanity. A locomotive lost in the tunnel of unknown.

Tagged: marco fiori, Poetry, Trains, writing