The End of the Line

I put my father on the train.
He always liked trains, he felt safe there
closeted in a carriage with arms to support him
while the carpet pile stroked old bones.

The song of the sliding doors enveloped him
and the muffle of remembered voices whispered
a wraith's lullaby as he slid slowly into the
underground tunnel.

Today I put them on the train.
The treasured remnants of my father's shed.
I know they will find him.