Childhood trains

The rattle
as shoulders hit then lost contact with
mum beside me and the windowsill, thick glass
countryside clattering passed
obliquely disinterested in a boy’s green eyes
that lost thoughts in the movement towards and back home again
lots of trains, no car –
we were poor –
a small metal train for a birthday
not train set, remember what I said,
a train; large metal, the wheels did not turn;
it made no sound,
was painted as if it moved.

The train to the doctor’s
the x-ray, somewhere wrong within my chest,
a skulking thing hidden by ribs and a heart that sometimes gave a twitch
caused my hand to clench and squeeze the flesh
above the acute and frightful pain –
even now, given nothing was ever said, I consider
whatever it was is there still
inside, lurking –
standing there in a white singlet
the look that occupied mum’s face,
I had chosen the singlet with the slight tear
below the skinny left arm,
thread defeated hangs limp…
embarrassed twitch to mum’s lips –
I came to know that twitch, those lips…
the dread of what others may think.

The train to school
only I went the wrong way
before school I had only caught the train from one platform
with mum –
my hands covering my ears
cowering as the diesel cut through the station,
its high-pitched squeal
terror in motion –
alighted from the other
its shows how my mind worked
or worked to let me down
logic never strong, reason not reasoned with, a foe,
my mind even back then was an explosion
rather than a progression
school was like a train wreck
as often as a place of learning.