The Midnight Gravel Train Poem by Edwin Hopper

It leaves the evening quarry, dims into the rain.
Clunking up to London, the railway's gravel train.

The car park under Sainsbury, dark night, summers end
A trap for the unwary, shadows shelter and befriend

The almost dead, almost rich, walk to the Playhouse stage.
Pensioner special rates, for a play of modern rage

Salisbury ladies talking loud. They're not scared at all,
of any sleeping dosser, or the boy sat by the wall.

Wiser heads look and say, That's us, but for fortune.
No. We earned our pension. Planned lives of boring caution.

Dossers sit against the wall, with blankets on the ground.
A sort of camp, a sort of home, possessions tight around.

There's not much happened, nothing new There is no conversation.
No one wants to hear his fear, or share in his sensation,

They turn now, to the wall, and sleep, knowing it's not wise
To stay awake, and get to know, the boy with empty eyes

Shadows watch three pretty girls, bare legs, knickers flashing
Happiness and music. In the rain storm, barefoot splashing,

Girls laughing, singing, stumbling, Dancing shoes in hand.
Their blisters aren't so bad now, as they reach the taxi stand

Things in shadow gather. Watching waters down the drain
They know the night is waiting, for the midnight gravel train

The boy knew girls in leather, others who wore lace.
He turned and ran when all of them, spat poems in his face.

Run? Stop? Stab? Blood? His brains a burnt out labyrinth,
that memories, half lies of knives, dream and labour in.

Darker shadows cluster round, forgive his earthly hell.
Things in shadows, all know stories, boys can never tell.

It groans to London slowly, the railway gravel train.
Two coupled diesels roaring, smoke into the rain

He has the look about him, of one who might have slain.
Or owns an evil conscience, that's driving him insane.

This is creation. Life and death. Nothing like mundane.
Staring into darkness. Hunting for God in the rain.

A small transistor hisses, Orff's cantiones profane.
If the Rhine to the sea were ours, we'd only feel more pain.

The gravel train's in Wiltshire. Timetable to maintain.
The boy decides at last. There are truths to ascertain

No more point in waiting. there's nothing more to gain.
He stands and howls, and staggers, and walks into the rain.

More shadows gather watching, while he walks up the lane,
scrambles up the muddy bank, to the railway in the rain.

The end of his life's sodden walk, there's just a bloody stain.
Lit by Salisbury floodlights, on the midnight gravel train.

You died. You're one of us now. It's here that you remain.
In the darker shadows, praying for God in the rain.