Going, Going
The country’s train runs through the tunnels
Like spit or hot saliva
The people fill it to the gunwales …
Look out, there is no driver
As passengers, our breath is bated
Because the line is automated
Look out, there’s no-one at the wheel
The light is vile and violet
Inside the tube, it feels unreal
We’re all on auto-pilot
It’s silent, you can’t hear the pistons
And there’s an iceberg in the distance
Mind the gap between the ears
Of those who pull the levers
The cabin’s empty, there are fears
They flatter to deceive us
Perhaps there is a sense of motion
But why are we out here, mid-ocean?
The captains hand out photographs
That claim that we are breezing
And tell us with a nervous laugh
Come in, the water’s freezing
Involuntary, hear our shudder
No driver, and no bloody rudder
