Who are you, upon my toe? What secrets do you have to know?
Your big headphones and bigger screen; your skewed smile and glistening sheen.
Another face within this carriage; a mother, a child, a woman – in marriage.
Underground traveller, regular and proud; you do not flinch to announcements, loud.
You take it in your fixed, wide stance. Not for you, this travelling dance,
of rocking movements as we go, where is my station, do you know?
Another crowd, through train doors come, as I cling to life with fingers and thumb.
They barge their way in to my space; an armpit rests upon my face
I want to say, oh do you mind? Though fear response will not be kind
Their crumpled face snorts tales of woe; I am a stranger, to morning show
Their place is here, daily routine; comment from me, would feel quite mean.
I’ll leave them to their underground hell; to Leeds I go, I wish them well.