Minutes

Fifteen little creatures dancing round the train,
pulling at hydraulics and generally being a pain.
The conductor is already nursing a broken arm.
He’s exited the train, away from further harm.
He’s talking on the phone, arm in a temporary sling,
“They’re savage and they’re evil. They’re nasty vicious things.”

The cab is under siege from eight more little creatures.
Uncompromising malice upon their ugly features.
The driver’s had enough. He’s balled up on the floor.
While reaching, grasping hands, prod through cracks around the door.
He’s desperately praying for assistance to arrive
but even if the train is fixed he’s in no state to drive.

Romping in the corridor, there’s seven creatures more.
Passengers scream and shout. Unhappy, to be sure.
One is riding a stockbroker pulling on his hair.
One’s sharpening its claws while blood pools upon the chair.
A nun clobbers one of them, makes a bolt for the door but
with the hydraulics down the doors are firmly shut.

Next station down the line the people all complain.
They are already late. Where is the infernal train?
They’re blissfully unaware of this supernatural blitz
All the announcements say is ‘… delayed by thirty minutes’.

Ruminate

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