Do engineers dream?

Do engineers dream of eiderdown chairs and perhaps a world without gravity? Do they poke with soft pencils at yesterday’s dreams and the monstrous dark in the bedsit? Do they skilfully rush to the day’s blasting rays at the stretch of a morning which never delays? — I know a few engineers and they are

Another Tube Poem: Tunnel Days

They who serve the suction of daybreak, beneath the earth, beneath the dew, beneath the kitchens where there’s burning toast and grapefruit, bury, with the morning light, their hope of hearing birdsong. — My commuting is less than a tenth of many who live and work in London. But when I am on the move,