The Stop

The train doesn't stop at Carstairs
only small local ones that are old
with people who are furtive, and look glum
eyes travelling the trees looking up
and look down

but the fence now: it is high and
white, brand new, with tall lights
looking inward to the grass and a
black hospital chimney tells a tale

of inmates and huddled buildings
and red-tiled roofs - psychos - the
man next to me called them
imagining them climbing the fence and
hijacking the train.

I do not grin, his joke is not
fun, and I sympathise
with the sad souls therein
who have lost their lives
and have nothing to gain

to being well and committed
to the community again.

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