You can turn off your brain
on the train,
and tune into the white noise
of other people’s joys
and despairs,
where no one cares about your day,
and the grey
colour and pattern of the seats
matches the sky.
A monochrome
commute home.
Somebody is off to the pub
and another is feeling the rub
of a blister on a new pair of shoes,
and a decent number are glued
to their work laptops
even when the nine to five stops
they keep going
in an office moving one hundred miles an hour
monopolising the power
points of every table,
trailing cables
growing an urban jungle
as the train rumbles.
We fly through fields of sheep
and horses and cows
and many keep
their eyes out of the window
avoiding others
until a loud phone conversation bothers
their whislestop zen,
and then
out comes the headphones and the kindle,
interest dwindles,
and you can only feel the beat of the engine
reverberating
in your bones
as you race closer and closer
to home.
.
.
By Fudge Cooper
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