Metro Cammell Poem by Adrian Flett

In evening's glow we'll nod by the familiar places,
I'll try to stay awake as my station approaches.
But in the morning, crystal morning
alert, fresh as the long harmonica screeches with friction's load
to a halt beside me, we board, sit, yawn and wait
for the rest of the day to begin.


Sailing on steel in studied silence of tabooed eye contact
but when, with a fast flick you catch an eye
what floods of smiles and conversation
now the ritual barriers are down.
Faces that seem familiar need confirmation
as they're seldom seen two trips in a row.


Now a nonchalant glance through the window
tells where we are but the list still rattles
in my head like the joints in the metal,
Florida, Unified, Maraisburg.
Going home in reverse they rattle
in the drowsy afternoon.


Turning north at Mayfair; first sight of cubist mountains
rising high over foothills as low sun wheels, strikes eyes unprepared.
Brown Braamfontein tells me Jo'burg is near.The day will soon begin.
But we're still in the foyer of the Berg.My, "Good morning, "
startles fat women in glass cubicles as they clip at tickets and grin.
Are they the new foresters issuing permits to hike the wilderness?


Amongst the giants wind rushes and swirls
and mist high up hides the square grey peaks.
I dream of Gray's Pass as my feet strike the unyield;
feet that dream of spongy grass-rooted paths,
for I see the sheer rock faces, the grass of the field
and caves filled with ancient paintings.