Counting down
the stations
what
cold
familiarity
lies just ahead…
worn stone walls and ruddy dull bricks
pasty grey buildings and squashed squat houses
tarmac, rails and blurs of brightly branded trains
the odd garish squiggle of graffiti
cows, sheep, horses, goats
their fellows caught in a yellow repetitious graze
along a lazy scene
too mellow to change
so inconsiderate of my
awkwardness
intotheindigo 