The Circle Line.

The Circle Line.

The train rushes by.

Catching our reflections

And whisking them off

As we wait like cattle

In trucks, on a siding.

Many are sucked off their feet,

Carried away

In the whoosh of wind

Pulled into the vortex

Leaving nothing

But we shadows.

Tottering forward

Closer to the edge.

But it is

So quickly gone,

Not even a pause

For the slow coach

As it roars onward.

A flicker of colour

In the darkened hollows

Of the deepening maw

Creates a brief comedy

Of the divine,.

As chocolate wrappers

And fast food flyers,

Dance in the swirl.

Slack jawed bemusement

Travels through

The displaced

At the speed of things.

The sprinkle of has been’s

And ne’er do wells,

Thrown together

In the fall out,

Sleeping in blind spots

Beneath the fine print.

The flotsam,

Left behind

In the lull between storms.

The jettisoned

And the washed up,

Marooned,

Hoping the next high tide

Will see them refloat,

Sit together,

Cheek by jowl

With crumpled heaps

Wearing sports shoes

As big as boats,

Who wait all day long

For a free ride

On the circle line

Just to fill time

Until the slow train,

The one that waits,

And stops

In all the right places,

Finally does come in.

The platform

Will finally empty

Leaving nothing

But the infernal,

Insubstantial echo

Of reluctance,

Left behind,

By the never ending circle,

Of the damned.