I like the train into work
Weekends only, mind
As I get to pick a seat
Rather than partake in human sardines
As I hug the handrail by the door
Monday to Fridays.
Stress free Saturday.
Was it a good night last night?
Opposite and to my right
Eyelids drooping…powernap
Or do I just look that boring?
Or even ‘weird bloke scary’?
As I whip it out on the train
Escaping in my own dream world
Of a library book.
As we all do in that
To avoid talking to a stranger
Or even simple eye contact.
But YOU-the woman to my left
I caught you looking
Still not saying a word
Some things are best not said
Yes, I spotted those raised eyebrows
Hidden by your middle class glasses
That make you appear
So much more intellectual
And Intimidating
As you travel from suburbia.
Me, in my tatty, moody Lonsdale jacket
And well worn Primark jeans
I can see what’s going through your mind
That disbelieving double-take
Thinking:
‘People like HIM don’t read poetry!’
One nil to the working class,
One nil to the working class…
Just as well I turn my notebook
In the other direction
As these words flow
Little know that her peek
Over my shoulder
Is all the inspiration I need.
Two nil to the working class
Own goal posh bird.
Dulwich Poet 25th May 2013
(I got on the train to work this morning, & I am certain I clocked a look of surprise, as a middle class woman who I sat next to, had a look over my shoulder, to see what I was reading)
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