The Closing Tin

(Poetry) A Free Verse Poem

Photo by Annie Hendrix

Vat of perfumed passengers, 
pack like canned fish:
an impatient hand 
jams its fingers in
the closing tin

Glass-clad tunnel-darkness 
spies draught of hooked necks, 
red herring faces, 
blue light tailrace,
ram ventilation

Each stop is a testament 
to human progress:
so many stinking bodies and 
not a single casualty

Thanks for reading!