I can remember on a wet evening
In Hastings
Retiring into an obscure cinema
I watched a film about trains
And fell in love with an android
I have not scripted this poem
It has a past but no future
The thing that I like about androids
Is that they lack emotions
As they are machines (are they) after all
The hostess on my train is called Laura
(do you see the connection)
She drifts from carriage bringing refreshments
I ask for a kiss she slaps my face and then kisses me
She is not programmed for anything else
She is not programmed for anything else but to serve
Trains are time Trains are time Trains are Time
This poem does not have a future it has a past
It has no script I do not script my poems
I experience my poems I live my poems
Here I am on a train in an aqua seat
Being served by an android named Laura
Her uniform is red as her lips
Her hair is black as her shoes
Her eyes are sad like mine
(green brown/black on black)
I ask for a copy of the timetable
There is no timetable
I feel that my coffee has been drugged
As I am very tired and the night is a blur
Laura shows me to my bunk and I fall asleep
I dream about this journey
I dream about Laura
I dream about trains
I dream about finishing this poem
Which has a past but no future
(You have visited the past)
I wake up with a start
I am still on the train
We are travelling at a very high speed
I find Laura sitting in a vestibule
Near an open door
I ask her to retire
From the present danger
(she has tears on her face)
(androids are emotionless)
(androids are programmed)
We are in a tunnel a long tunnel
It is screaming in vacancy
Outside the released door
I ask Laura not to destroy herself
She tells me that she is programmed
To destroy herself if she falls in love
I ask her to recline in the bunk opposite me
She declines
I close the door
(Drama)
Laura is looking into my eyes
A hint of a smile crosses her lips
The neon night lights
Are activated as we are passing through borders
The lights remain extinguished
This poem has a past but no future
I ask Laura to join me in my bunk
She accepts and removes her name badge
And is deactivated limp in my arms
I hold her name badge
I sense that she wants to rest
This poem has come to an end
It has no future