The Corner

A Poem

Final push, week’s last day.
Ticket hall pulls and tugs.
Caffeined up, but barely awake
you head into these concrete lungs.

The platform bustles with the alveoli 
of this stagnated oxygenated city,
which breathes with difficulty,
keeping commerce’s phlebotomy busy.

The trains remotion, motion’s commotion
trigger’s your memory’s half-forgotten emotion.
No more money they had said yesterday,
But really, when you look at it, a promotion.

Fight through this long day,
don’t let the grind, sharpen your anger.
Seven more hours then you’re castaway
into warm taverns, relaxation, dubious answers.

And everything is alright now,
you can’t remember what the fuss was.
Bonhomie’s rich cocktail’s lubrication
delivering you from monotony’s peril

The relief of the last tube, 
is tinged with regret. 
Alone, being brave, but still
not turning any corners, not yet.

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Clapham North Tube, London. 2006. Nikon FM2
Tottenham Court Road Tube, London, 2006. Nikon FM2,

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