Today, a brief verse about something not normally deemed poem-worthy - gravel and railway sidings...
Of heaps and hoppers
behind hazy gravel hills,
purpling their way towards the tracks –
hungry for the hi-vis shovel,
to be held wagon-safe and shunted
chute-slid to cluster under creosoted oak
and snaking steel
with its clatter-rumble
a friendly helm of sound.