Standing squashed on the train,
through persistent migraine
going down the drain
with the dregs,
look around and up,
squeeze your gaze in the gap
‘twixt the arms and the crap
in the bags.
Think of people inside
this elaborate hide
made to coddle and hide
their fears:
some are dressed to impress,
some are dressed to possess,
some are dressed to undress,
it appears.
As they hang off handrails,
in the hamster-wheel race,
do your best to embrace
their sorrow.
Don’t be sad, don’t be mad.
Smile and nod, look ahead.
They or you could be dead
by tomorrow.
Leave a Reply