Letting Off Steam Poem by john coldwell

Agitation, slowly bubbling to boil,
The stoking-up has begun.
With spiteful hiss and hot oil,
We depart on our ramshackle run.

Chuff, chuff, the sound mocks my fate,
The pressure is beginning to rise.
Vigorous steel arms now gyrate,
Under my seat, growling brown eyes.

The force that drives us, and steams,
Reluctantly drags these old cars,
And this carriage’s rattling beams,
Jail me behind second class bars.

The barks of an overweight poodle,
The rat-at-tat-tat of the wheel,
The din of the whole damn caboodle,
I know how the boiler must feel.

O how the steam longs for freedom,
And is bursting to break forth from it’s cage.
An explosion like that would be awesome,
All fire, and brimstone, and rage.

White clouds of hot retribution,
Metal parts flung far and wide,
T’would be a true revolution,
And I would escape by it’s side.

With the driving force gone to the heavens,
To meet itself in the air,
This old train's lost motivation,
And the passengers are left in despair.

I have nothing against those in first class,
As they quietly sit there and foam.
And as for the dog down the carriage,
Let the little sod walk it’s way home.