We join the queue at the station
all excited to ride the steam train.
We file out onto the platform
gasping in unison at the sight
of the bottle-green engine
and the Pullman carriages.
We stare in wonder and awe at
the engine and the carriages,
these relics from another era,
like the ruins of an ancient castle
or the dusty findings of an
archaeological dig.
Clouds of steam erupt from the engine
billowing into the air,
suddenly filling the narrow platform
stinging our eyes as we cough and laugh.
Still grinning like children about to finish
for their summer holidays
we step into the carriages.
The tables are covered in white table cloth,
the cups and saucers bear the red railway logo.
I could imagine a Belgian detective
investigating a murder
in such a carriage.
As the train pulls away I spot
a couple walking down the platform
wearing coats and hats, arm in arm,
their brief encounter
either starting or ending.
The man sitting facing me has grey hair
and tears in his eyes.
I sense it is not the engine
smoke making his eyes water.
As the train chugs away down the tracks
he says with a sentimental smile
‘This takes me back.’
with a little boy glint in his eye.