Train to Page

I flip the page on another half-digested poem

And wish I could join the drunks further down the carriage

Or sleep, twisted and contorted, face pressed against the glass

And make time fly as the blurry world goes past

I do not know if it is yours

In an age of typing I do not recognise your handwriting

A text would explain away the mystery

Take the myth and turn it into history

Sprawling, cramped and crawling sideways up the page

Notes with torn off paper to mark their place

My heavy eyes open and the poem is forgotten

I watch your words race each other

To the bottom