Newcastle Central Station

Neat, double curves of iron
Enclose a sense of opportunity.
Waiting is anticipation of elsewhere going and
Coming. The air booms with
Adenoidal announcements.
Sleek carriages grumble over
Tracks that disappear into half moons of light.
Laid when steam was
Everything – an age of

Certainty, when top-hated
Engineers were only
Next to God. Their roaring
Trains kept people in their places,
Ran classes in and to their separate stations.
And now electric locomotives haul
Less formal times behind them. They

Sidle modestly between the platforms.
The barriers have gone where uncles waited
And wartime lovers kissed each other one last
Time. The clock has seen out arrivals and departures,
In with the old,
Out with the