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Peak hour on the Northern Line, terminus King’s Cross.
Time enough to spin some yarn to sell the boss—
Bloggs’s late, again—or fill in applications
done the best one can in noisy, crowded cars
that rolling, rock; rattle in and out of stations.
Next stop, King’s Cross. A day receptionist applies
a final flourish to her face with coral blush,
then paints her lips with orange bows, despite the crush.
Exiting, pencil in hand, she opens up her eyes
to iGens, who, with practiced tunnel vision,
close offline apps, check their phones’ reception bars
as busy platforms near, brace for a collision.
Mind the gap? Eye the app? In the scrum, what tactics?
The crowd carries on, depending on rough haptics.