Eyes cast down
Earphones in ears,
Silent, commuter world
With only the rustle of newspapers
To accompany the drone
Of the engine,
Clicks and sudden sparks,
The tube train
Thrusts through the darkness,
Carrying its crop of
Weary workers,
Only the tourists
Are animated and talking,
The babble of languages
Mixing with incoherent announcements.
The underground has an odour
Metallic, oily and the perspiration
Of human closeness,
Stoked into a fug
By the stifling heat,
The doors grind open
Relief,
Press through the barriers of bodies
To the platform,
Mind the gap!
Diane Scantlebury
