Away from it all

Drat those cars! Who cares for asphalt roads
or petrol stations when there is instead
the lonely lure of evening platforms, dim
and empty, echoing with breaks, and then
accelerating rhythms of fast wheels -
the glamour of true traffic. wagon-lits,
a dining car - you hear the sound approaching
of someone chiming down the corridor:
a white-clad, brisk attendant calling you
to have your dinner at the second sitting
and so you gladly amble up the train.
There is no hurry as the landscape flies
along the gleaming track, and just those trees
that aren't too far away may catch the light
that's steaming from the windows. You may poke
your head from on of them and breathe the air
that's cool and bracing, then go on again
and sit at ease. A slightly rocking meal
is served on sturdy china. You unbend
your too tense muscles, and allow your face
to sag with pure contentment, and you sigh
with joy as each new station flashes by.