Jun 20, 2020
Updated: Jan 13, 2021
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We cross the black peat flat
on the stretch from March.
The train idles its way,
both carriages second class.
My mind drifts to irrigation
and the history of drainage.
Fork lightning over Ely,
a conductor approaching.
I'm safe here on the move
inside this capsule of metal.
Like that bubble of ethanol
when a builder taps the level.
Paul Stephenson
Paul Stephenson took part in the Jerwood/Arvon mentoring scheme and has an MA with the Manchester Writing School. He has three pamphlets: Those People (Smith/Doorstop, 2015), The Days that Followed Paris (HappenStance, 2016) and Selfie with Waterlilies (Paper Swans Press, 2017). He co-edited Magma (issue 70 ‘Europe’) and co-curates the Poetry in Aldeburgh festival (November). He interviews poets at paulstep.com.
Twitter: @stephenson_pj
Website: www.paulstep.com
About this poem
It's so beautifully atmospheric crossing the Fens in a storm and it got me thinking about how small and vulnerable the small train was at the mercy of the elements, the thunder and lightning.