Waiting at Machynlleth Station
I’ve
always wanted to put ‘Machynlleth’ in a poem
because
its very hard to pronounce
and I
do like to see people struggle, tripping over the ch and the ll.
Life
is hell when you are waiting at Machynlleth Station
Flooding
on the tracks at Dyfi Junction.
Well
if you will build your railway next to an Estuary.
There’s
parking at Bow Street mun!
Cletwr
Café is a request stop.
There
is a Comedy Festival for those in need of a paid, artificial laugh.
In the seat of Owain Glyndŵr's Parliament
Lycra clad
cyclists on their way to Dylife to be beheaded.
The
Hippies are here.
Preaching
to old Welsh Farmers that re-wilding is good for their chakra.
A Bus
on diesel leaves for London to protest our extinction.
Rebellion?
mae’n hen bryd cael gwrthryfel yn y dref
farchnad lawn Brummies.
Passing
through?
I
wish.
No, I’m
waiting at Machynlleth Station.
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