We’re the ones that didn’t make it
Didn’t get to have a seat
Stuck in the alleyway of the train
Somewhere between the loo and refreshments I imagine.
Standing awkwardly, just spaced out enough to avoid contact
But our eyes, they drift
I see the Ted Baker suitcase clashing with the Tesco hand luggage
The Pierre Cardin shirt clashing with those builders jeans.
I see your smart suit, and your hidden belly ring
I hear your heavy metal competing with his Phil Collins.
I see you are reading Dan Brown’s Inferno.
I want to tell you don’t bother.
Then again, I’m only reading Metro. Not much literacy there.
What is this unspoken gospel that disables our speech?
That doesn’t let our eyes meet, in the alleyway of stink?
And as we reach our station, a nod as though to say
We’re free, let’s go but not before:
‘Have a nice day!’