the signal box

 the signal box

the signal box

  back in the 60s

the shiny levers 

  with their release handles

mutton cloth 

that handed caress

  the colours denoting 

a child could imagine

  hard black and white 

the levers that pulled 

  the points too hard 

for a child is wincing 

at the counterweights

in the basement box 

     look 

a phone straight out 

of a Wells Fargo western

  spin the handle 

  shout the spout

earpiece platted to the wire 

we are 

jang jing jang 

  coded in call 

to another box

  where in thrall

the wood is shining 

the hands of time

going jing a jang jing 

lime a tombola box 

of winking eyes

  some white 

  some red

pulled in this box

  shining of time 

this signal man 

  sipping a cuppa

and the key to the line 

to the driver leather

  the lights a flickering 

all of the way 

to Timbuktu 

for this signal man

  in his signal box

by his coal fire

  with his cup of tea

and me trying

to pull the levers shinning 

  in my mind 

the mutton cloth 

many coloured oiling 

memories foiling

  until the red signal 

in the signal box

falls asleep

with 

jang a jing jang 

and a 

jing a jang jing 

jim  jim