Tube Dreams

Oh citadel of transport through this town!
Oh motorcade for ordinary man!
A simple beast, but mainstay of our state,
With sliding doors and recent drinking ban.
Upholstery which is garish but is true(And comfy when you’re adequately pissed),
Though crowded, one may ever rise anew
With a well timed elbow, shoe or fist.

Mornings, amid bleary eye and yawn,
I climb aboard this noisy, bustling train.
Evenings, weary; pupils wide and worn,
Fall I onto this tattered couch again.

In go earphones, fags in pocket shoved,
Bag on wrist and oyster card in hand,
Water bottle tucked under my arm,
On the brink of madness, here I stand
At the very top of Brixton’s stair,
Waiting a mere speck before I plough
Headfirst into many squirming limbs -
As many as this tunnel will allow.

Mornings, amid fuggy minds and sleep,
I climb aboard this fitting, fractious train.
Evenings, awash with sorrow for my keep,
This inky mask is cover for my shame.

How many faceless faces have I seen?
These countless unremembered passers-by!
How often fall I short of giving up
My seat to someone needier than I?
For on this coach filled brim to brim with souls,
No links are formed, despite proximity;
A million hearts all pressed into this space -
All shrouded in their blank obscurity.

Mornings, amid bleary eye and yawn,
I climb upon this random, frantic train.
Evenings, weary; a spirit burnt by scorn,
While all frustrations melt into the same.

Oh how beneath the London streets we pulse
And flow through veins that power city life,
While those that stamp their feet above our heads;
Oblivious to the thousands underneath!
Perhaps within this passage lies a cure
Awaiting thoughts that tap upon the nerve.
When myriad minds unite with something pure -
Provide the strength and courage we deserve.

Mornings, amid androgyny and ire,
I climb aboard this noisy, bustling train.
Evenings, smiling, warm with my desire,
Fall I onto this tattered couch again.