Strap-hanging on the Underground,
I take a mournful look around,
And what a curious crew I see,
Assembled there in front of me:
A creepy dude with snake tattoos
That speak of vile, toxic views.
A sharp-eyed lawyer scours her brief.
That furtive boy, is he a thief?
A schoolgirl scrolls her Facebook feed,
Beside a matron decked in tweed,
Who resolutely scans The Times,
Tut-tutting over ghastly crimes.
A weary cleric rests his book,
And wears a God-forsaken look.
Two thrusting types in pin-stripe suits,
Eye up a girl in purple boots,
While “Colonel Blimp” in corduroy,
Looks down upon the hoi-polloi.
That long-haired bloke? Perhaps a don?
A toddler wheedles on and on,
But finds he’s totally ignored
By mother, toddlered-out and bored.
A student strokes her sweetheart’s head.
She plans for dinner, wine and bed.
A doppelgänger for Bruce Lee
Hangs on a strap, alongside me.
We rumble on beneath our town,
Our faces black and white and brown,
The grizzled old, the glowing young,
Each with another mother tongue.
The world’s come with me on this ride,
And as I sway from side to side,
One thought is spooling on repeat:
When will I get a bloody seat!