The Great Western

Writing on the corners of napkins,
Just small ideas,
Erupting mind,
Words begin to unwind.

A dark track
And full flooding clouds,
Disturbance -tapped shoulder
The guard's ticket check.

Swiftly sweep the trees; they pass,
Smudges of emerald greens
Mixed with feasting cows, then
My full rubbish bag-

It hangs by the window;
The squashing vanilla yoghurt,
The plain crisps, and then
The cornish fudge.

Home will come soon,
A few hours,
Passed another place,
Unfamiliar.

Thoughts join,
Pieces fall free,
Mind's been broken,
The window fully open.