the engine’s graveyard
we came across them
unexpected like
we were not train spotting
or anything like
just past the cooling ponds
just past the white tips
walking the line we were
going fishing up the trout stream
that was our prize hope
and there they were
behind the wire
silent in number
yet numbered in bronze
and the names the names
they had their names
bronzed of memory
the castles the granges the halls
the kings
the green was dusty but not faded
their glamour was arrested
transfixed
their prison a boy’s own book
to be an engine driver a dream
halted
scrap they were
sacrilege asked
how could we steal their names
regret has jumped the signal
and hit my buffers
ever since
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