Poetry Corner: Evidently TransPennine
Won’t get to work ‘til half past nine.
A fucking KitKat’s £6.99.
We’re expecting six cars, they send fucking three.
Stuck on platform 16b.
The fucking air-con’s fucking bust.
If I sweat much more I’ll fucking rust.
We’re outside Morley, blocking the line.
Shove us in so fucking tight.
Veal calves have more fucking rights.
To squeeze more of us on they’d need fucking lube,
Onto this Diesel-powered misery-tube.
The fucking toilet fucking reeks.
Engineering lasts for weeks.
This fucking happens all the time;
Fucking earphones fucking leak.
Fucking ringtones fucking shriek.
Fucking massive wheelie cases
Taking up our valuable spaces.
The fucking Metro’s fucking dire.
Can’t wait until I fucking retire.
By then I might be 89,
But free of fucking TransPennine.
No fucking seats – I’ll fucking stand;
A year of this costs me two grand.
If this derails, we’re fucking fucked,
Inside fucking cattle trucks.
We’re all crammed in, can’t fucking breathe,
Personal space costs additional fees.
Commuter conversations; asinine.