Wriggling uncomfortably
in the confines of the small space.
So many bodies compressed
as the motion of the journey
rolls us from side to side
with crushing of acceleration
and jerks of surprise.
At last, the final stop
the freshness of air
and sound of birdsong,
as the inhuman container
of our journey is opened, sprung.
The birdsong grows louder
and evokes strange shivers
of apprehension as we grow colder.
Now picked up gently in your hands,
a warmth of reassurance
in such a large unrecognised forest,
with the sound of waters
unhurried flowing.......
The steel hook pierces flesh
and a shock of cold water
envelopes in its entirety.
As a flash of shiny scales
heralds the arrival
of two rows of sharp teeth.
David Taylor
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-end-of-the-line-3/
