Standing room only…


Standing room only, another first world problem,

Almost two hours of dense stagnant air,

As I breath in the exhausts of my fellow travellers,

I shift from ball to heel, hip to hip.

The sticky striped surface formally known as ‘carpet’, 

Combines forces with gravity until many subdue,

Not me… No way.

I spotted that papier-mâché slurry being dragged from the WC with every return of it’s desperate visitor.

I while away the time glancing between my phone, the windows and the people,

Flat-affect faces entranced by the rhythmic sway,

Eyes drooping relative to the temperature of the carriage,

Many concede, heads bouncing downward as they dream of their destination’s comforts.

Outside I watch the sunset, that timeless beauty,

As the pastures, trees and hills paint blurred lines on my mind,

The burning sky reminds me… 

This is the moment, this is always the moment…

I take a deep breath of dense air… 

I watch a young child asleep in her mothers arms…

I catch the eye of the old gentleman in the flat-cap leaning on his stick,

I smile… He smiles…

The sun sets. 

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