less than 1 minute read

The destination displays are corrupted
again. Carriages and corridors converge
on the horizon, a lifetime’s walk away.

If you look to your left, you will
see the same wheat field repeated
endlessly, the blur devoid of detail.

Our mobile phones died decades ago. Good
books were bartered for the smallest
pleasures, perhaps a window seat, maybe
an air vent that isn’t clogged with dust.

We have a selection of sandwiches
available in the buffet car; egg,
ploughman’s or gravel (no mayo).

Those who wander too far from their seats
are quickly forgotten. They become memories
then stories, then names, then silences.

We regret to inform you the past
is a black hole and it is hungry.

Mostly, we sit very still and listen to
our toenails grow, millimetre by millimetre.

Prompt became the title - “Hollow Passengers” from Lemondaisypoetry on Instagram

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