The Border

The Border

“Ladies and Gentlemen, we will
soon be arriving at York”

What? Already?

Or should that be at long last?

The hours have all mingled into one
as the train
crawls along at a hideously slow pace.

We cross the border and as we do
a train bearing black stones hurtles past.

Ahead loom the industrial faces of cities,
all derelict.

Gloomy mood, gloomy day.

The day and my mood both darken as we shuffle along.

Gone the cabaret of autumn colours
we were treated to as we left.
Now all we get is a dark reminder
of where we are.

Each passing factory, each tower block
taunts us.

This is what you get if you dare to cross
the border.


written by Mahala in 1993

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