Written on a Train

So the endless journey continued

past landscapes and council estates.

burned fields and motorbikes.

I laid down my head

and slept forever.

I missed the willow tree and the theme parks

as I dreamt of victory and curvaceous women

who would never know my name

and never care to ask.

I could transform my dreams

with a change of scenery,

reactivate my motivation

by withdrawing an active chemical.

I could forget my now in-built urges

and do the right thing.

If only I’d allow myself to.

Potential means shit without the graft

and vigour.

I was born an inch from a landmine

(little did I know).

A leg either side,

one step from disaster.

But don’t send in the troops just yet.