They Seem To Be Alive (re-write)

Beasts of burden stand patient

murmering from internal functions.

Body heat warming passing admirers.

‘Of course they’re alive,’ engineers

and firemen declare.

Coming to life every morning with

each gallon and shovel of coal.

‘They have moods,’ they claim.

Stubborn, good, contrary.

Exhaling moist clouds so dense

they are lost inside,

the giant mechanical dinosaurs,

haul themselves to action.

Never seeming eager to go accepting

their fate heaving vast breaths of

sulphurous smoke and pure white steam.

Now, petted and adored.

Rare breeds. Endangered  species

cared for by men in uniform grime

coated boiler suits with faces stained

terracotta by coal embedded skin.  

So proud of their charges

like a wayward child – or lover.

And of those who come to ride

on the spectacle of steam.

The very young; bemused and scared

by clanging wheels and vaporous shrieks.

Fathers reminiscing days they hardly knew

while grandpa sits quietly in the carriage

dreaming of courting days.

Contradictory sounds of old and new.

Ten-year-old’s gamers mark time

with Victorian rhythmic tracks