The call of the railway texter

A rare foray into poetry, written as my train induced slumber was broken by a fellow passenger’s texting. Apologies for abuse of rhythm, meter and rhyme. Not quite John Betjeman but adequate for 30 minutes on the train.

tat-tat

tat-tat-tat

tat-tat-tat-tat

tat-tat

This is the call

of the railway texter
the man on the phone

from Widnes or Chester

by screen or by button
the method of entry
the latter firm
the former gently

over the country
the characters flow
in cuttings and tunnels
above and below

the feel of the buzz
the vibrating phone
the temporary pause
a terminal tone

this is the call
of a railway texter
the gentle tat tat
that ends a siesta

the girl with a smile

the man with a grin
the gentle tat tat
that sounds like a din

the synaptic touch
of arythmic finger
the assurance of entry
just turn off the ringer

the closer we get
past industrial towns
the Cheshire plains
the battery wears down

the phone lies dead
there goes the beep
of the railway texter
and I sit asleep

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