Photograph and poetry by Rhys Hughes
Why not travel by train direct
from Devil’s Bridge
to Istanbul? What makes you
so reluctant?
Is it because the journey along
the infernal ridge
strikes you as a little too risky?
And maybe the frisky insects,
the midges and mites
that bite the passengers during
the night, the driver too,
dissuade you from the exploit?
What if they bite his nose,
and he sneezes and loses control
and the train is wrecked
and spills its coals,
setting the world on fire?
Better to make the voyage
curled up tight
on a flying carpet,
fast asleep over the deeps
of the ocean,
the gentle rocking motion
more soothing
than a locomotive’s lurch.
On your magical perch
you will be safer
than a wafer in an ice cream.
I know this for certain
because I did my research,
making the trip
using the train at first,
and then in reverse
on a levitating curtain
which is almost
the same as a mystic rug.
Chug, chug, went the train,
flap, flap, went the drapes.
The latter was occasionally
harassed by seagulls,
the former attacked by apes.
But I know which I prefer:
the creatures
that have no fur.
If I really must be assailed
by beasts on the route
from Devil’s Bridge
to Istanbul, I’m not a fool.
Gulls can be placated
with bread, but apes prefer
to bite your head.
In fact my head still hurts.
But I guess it could
have been much worse:
we passed a cyclops
on the way. He was eating
a vehicle from a dish
on a tray, cursing
while slurping, and I saw
it was a hearse,
full of moaning bones
and telephones.
How horrible!
But we left him behind
soon enough
and apart from harpies,
ghosts, ghouls,
flying demon fish,
and one gigantic snake,
the rest of the
voyage was nightmarish
hardly at all.
I quaked just once
or twice or thrice
from that moment on.
I shut my eyes
for the sake of my sanity,
not out of vanity,
although my lids
have been called attractive
(and so have my toes)
by the denizens
of active volcanoes.
Yes, I can’t honestly
recommend travelling
by train direct
from Devil’s Bridge
to Istanbul.
It’s unlikely you will
survive the ordeal
without your mind
unravelling.
It’s spooky, perilous
and unwise,
the ticket inspectors
are strident
with mesmeric eyes.
The luggage racks
are never free
of spare forked tails
and tridents.
So I say:
find another way.
Please yourself
but for the sake
of your health
find another way!
Rhys Hughes has lived in many countries. He graduated as an engineer but currently works as a tutor of mathematics. Since his first book was published in 1995 he has had fifty other books published and his work has been translated into ten languages.
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