Will Vigar

poet. writer. imposter.

Tickets Please, Mr Auden


It wasn’t the Savile taint

of the Age of the Train

or the jaw dropping sexism

of travelling like the men do,

but the efficiency of engines

that killed the romance

of rail travel. Its bradycardic

clickety clack and gentle rocking

like a mothers comfort

replaced by an monotone roar

and the tilt and lurch of progress.

I thought of The Night Mail

and how Auden’s celebrated

rhythm would no longer make

sense, and need to be altered.









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This entry was posted on March 29, 2019 by in Poem, poem of the day, Poetry, Will Vigar and tagged , , , , , , , , , .
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