Maths was never my thing. School exam questions seemed to either omit crucial information or include irrelevant details.
My final break with maths occurred when I encountered trains that left different cities at different times at different speeds and you had to figure out when they would cross.
This poem explains how these problems manifested themselves in my brain.
Discuss.
A train leaves London
at ten am
averaging 90.
A bluish train
bisected by
a purple stripe
ambles out
of Liverpool Lime
in a gentle arc;
it’s too late
and of nearly eight
per cent on board
wearing glasses,
a proportion
is vegetarian
but not vegan
though she was once.
No one gets off at Crewe
but a man
from Education
gets on
with pencil, notebook
and a Tesco’s bag
with seven apples
and some pears.
The trains stop
five yards apart.
Drivers chat.
Travellers mingle.
Pimms is served.
A quartet plays.
Three waltz.
Two well.
The man from Education
vows next time
he’ll take the bus.
Discuss.
