Hilton and Murray: Sunday service…

Saturday night – Manchester bleeds neon

Christmas party laughter spilling out of office doors,

cheap glitter stuck to wet pavements.

My head spinning:

a kaleidoscope of bad decisions

Sunday – Piccadilly hits back.

Morning cold enough to bite

Hungover bones dragged through night before streets

A notice board just shrugs at me:

‘Engineering works - No London trains today’

So it’s the Pacer –

That rattling nodding donkey to Denton Road,

Some nowhere place with a name like a punchline.

Condensated windows shield the view,

barely existent suspension shields nothing

At last, a ninety waits for me, humming heavy.

Locomotive salvation coloured like raspberry ripple

Winter clear sky, 

Brufen induced clear head,

And all the way – clear signals 

And somewhere between Manchester grime

On the shove back to Rugby,

I find a kind of peace – 

Rails stitching the city shut behind me,

A rhythm steady enough to carry me home.

Words by David Murray

Models by James Hilton

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