Commuting hell! - poetry
It's dark, it's cold, its' just six thirty,
thoughts of sleep still dull my brain,
As I bend down, exclusive my coat,
a customer clone, just ahead of you for a train.
Insidious rain, just damp down,
through weak light of creeping dawn,
Paper sandwich bags and old chocolate cups,
blowing past, look so forlorn.
We clump together, like a colony of penguins,
sheltering from the rain,
As we struggle through, an added taxing day,
wait for the business district train.
Alien voices, from concealed speakers,
say there is a change, go to platform four,
Some move fast, must be beginners,
veterans stay still, heard it all before.
Styrofoam flavoured coffee,
"Giant cup for 10 cents saving!".
Smells like an accident, in a discipline lab,
But quells my caffeine craving.
Lurid posters, on the wall,
Sell things, we just don't need.
Early dawn documents rustle,
As some crack to read.
Alien voices, a new problem,
With the business district train,
"Can all commuters, on platform four,
go back to platform one again ! "
Those that stayed, have a deliberate smirk,
written wide upon their face.
While all the 'new boys', like accommodating sheep,
Back crosswise the class race.
In the distance, the illumination of a train,
Raise commuters hopes so high.
But it's just a local luggage train,
That derisively thunders by.
But then at last, a train pulls up,
And we fight to claim a seat.
Lay back relax, in baking clothes,
Commuter hell, at last complete.
John Roberts is a Ad hoc Education Consultant in the UK and boss of JayrConsulting Ltd.
http://www. jayrconsulting. co. uk
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