Waiting in a crush

Waiting in a crush

Of commuters

On the southbound platform

Of the Northern Line

Too many people

With not enough breathing room

Itchy for fresh air

Even this early in the morning

Office jerks and

Solicitors clerks

With a full day’s work to look forward to

Without air-con.

Just a rattling old electric fan

Perched on top

Of a filing cabinet

Stuffed full

Of waiting briefs

And sorried stories

From the archives.

Every office has them

Piled high

In a corner

Gathering dust

The red ribbons fading.

People are glassy-eyed

Their predilection to unwind

Written in the wrinkle

Of a suit they slept in

Too drunk to get undressed

After a night of drinking

In an overpriced cocktail bar

The waiters look like movie stars

Resting, between parts.

An announcement plays

Tinny and twisted

The voice reminiscent of

A Dalek “exterminate, exterminate.”

There is someone on the line

At Tottenham Court Road

A collective groan

A moment of harmony

From interns and barristers

Who don’t care

What that might mean

Other than being late for work

At the Inns of Court.

People are selfish

When it comes to matters of the heart

And nobody wants to put themselves

Into the shoes of a jumper

Or was he pushed?

There are some commuters

Who would gladly

Weed out the competition

For a seat all the way through

From Barnet

To Waterloo.