Fear written on his ageing face
My father stopped in haste
Fear for a moment on his face.
The man ran across the line
He banged those gates just in time.
We would hear the rumble
Look in anticipation
A guessing game.
The guard would look up and down.
The train would clatter on the track.
And pass so fast, your teeth chattered.
The guard would run again
To open the gates like a giant sluice,
What a strain ,turning the giant wheel again and again.
Cars poured across year upon year.
We would all wave and the guard returned the gesture.
The summer of sixty seven retired.
We headed north in the latter year…
We went to the crossing, it hit hard,
This early dawn, no guard,no gates.
No friendly face or to witness his run in haste.
No smile, no clue, only the clatter of wheel and track.
Two red and white giant barbers poles
Lifted high in the air.
You felt a quiver,
My father chides to the rear,
Technology my son,technology.