Sleeping compartment

My sleeper train compartment wall fabric.

On my way to Inverness for the weekend.

This poem always comes to mind when I'm on the sleeper:

"Sleeping compartment" by Norman MacCaig

I don't like this, being carried sideways
through the night. I feel wrong and helpless - like
a timber broadside in a fast stream.

Such a way of moving my suit
that odd snake the sidewinder
in Arizona: but not me in Perthshire.

I feel at right angles to everything,
a crossgrain in existence. - It scrapes
the top of my head and my footsoles.

To forget outside is no help either -
then I become a blockage
in the long gut of the train.

I try to think I'm an Alice in Wonderland
mountaineer bivouacked
on a ledge five feet high.

It's no good. I go sidelong.
I rock sideways - I draw in my feet
To let Aviemore pass.