Drips

The train’s approaching
encroaching on my quiet time
beside this railroad line.
and it’s raining
draining from me all hope
of Summer.

Can’t autocorrect the weather
and wouldn’t want too.

There’s a whistling on the track
taking me back and yet moving me on
and then it’s gone replaced by a squeak and
a squeal making me think that the brakes maybe feel
like I do,
wet through because of the rain.

Down on Liverpool street,
everything comes down to Liverpool street
people I’ve known and possibly still yet to meet
wasting away down in Liverpool street.

Anyway I’m here to sit the test if time be that
and here I’ll stay until they take me to
some universal university.

I notice notices and try to make
some sense of them,
the things men do
when they’re soaking wet through
I do too.

© 2017, John Smallshaw.