Train Strike

The evening train 

from Milan 

to London

was delayed as usual-

then declared 

Soppressa (Cancelled).

Everyone shrugged and went home.

When we boarded another day

there was no food or heat- 

even in first class.

I shared my

unmade sleeper-

with a shorn young monk

who shared his bread and cheese 

with me.

Wrapped in my rich black coat

and he, tightly, 

in his harsh black shawl-

face to face, 

warm knees touching-

we crossed the night.

For a moment,

trading chaos for order

and some peace,

we exchanged our splendid Alps

for a broken cell 

in Greece.

Ascetics-at-large,

with enough food and talk

for a sleepless journey,

we finally arrive 

and London hits us

like a hurricane.

Somewhat reluctant, 

somewhat relieved, 

we plunge 

into the turbulent waters

of Liverpool Street.