a one hundred and twenty sixth new poem ... 'southern rail'

Southern Rail – the franchise

For your ordinary

Common-sense kind of man,

What’s the point of bloody

Sitting anyway, when we’ve two

Churchillian legs to stand?

Air-conditioning is for

Conchies and working toilets

Should be a treat… but you’re

All a load of fucking whingers –

What else d’you want, passenger

Ejector seats?!

Good old Southern Rail – the

Franchise for you ordinary

Common-sense kind of chap,

Bullet trains, TGVs are all

Foreign made death traps.

What could be better than

Trundling sedately through the English

Countryside, or staring at a

Bramble hedge, a brick

Yard, waiting (hours) for a ride?   

So here’s to Southern Rail –

We decent men hope you make

It through
Your current malaise

To better days,
We few

We very few!