Poetry Magazines - The best collection of poetry magazines online - Simon Armitage

I’m on this train,
I din’t want to be,
no one asked me
if I should be
on this train, but
here I am.

I am on this train
and we are going to war.

I am on this train
and we are going to war
and I have been sat atween
these men, call ‘em One and Two
if you must, and
One says, I don’t want to know,
this ain’t gotten nothing to do wi’ me,
when I try to tell him
that I am on this train,
that I din’t want to be
that no one asked me if I should be
and that this train is going to war,
but

but the interesting one is not One but Two
as he is telling me this story of why he is here,
something about Friday night, he sleeping
in bed with his wife Dora when they get to hear
this noise downstairs, something like windows
breaking, so he going downstairs with his shotgun
and shoots stone dead this man, ‘cos he says to me:
I just thought it was just some other burglar,
I din’t mean to shoot my son.

Here I am on this train going
to war that I din’t want to go
on and no one said that I should
go on listening to one man who
is a murderer who killed his son
and sat next to this other One
who is keeping saying, I don’t
want to know, this has nothing
to do with me, and I’m trying
to follow Two filling in
the details about how his son
was drunk, lost his key, breaking
in,

But I’ve had enough,
I mean fuck this for a game of soldiers,
I’m ganning home, suddenly
remembering this pan of chick
peas that I’ve gotten cooking
on gas, though on low.

So, I’m about to pull
the emergency cord,
I’m getting offski,
when number Two
breaks his story to
draw his gun, to
say to me, Touch
that cord, motherfucker,
and I get to
blow sky-light through
your skull!

Is this any way to
talk to
a coward? I go,
You wun’t do
that surely?
Surely would, says Two,
Remember I’m the one
who shot my son.

So I appeal to One,
but he just saying,
keeps on saying,
I don’t want to know,
this ain’t gotten nothing to do wi’ me.

No. Nay, I say,
This has
everything to do
with one and you too.
There are all these
chick peas,
thousand upon thousand
and they burn, burn,
burning now -
someone has got to do
something!