All Change - Diane Scantlebury

In Central the uniform is ominous, dark,
The faces are pale and grim,
There’s no colour, no sparkle, no sound,
No regard for age or infirmity,
No concession to summer,
Deep from the black mole depths
And squash of Victoria
The train emerges into bright light,
Emptying gradually as it heads west,
Just past Earl’s Court a new breed alights
Smiling, chattering, colourful aliens,
Inquisitive, noisy children,
We must be in the suburbs,
The coil of tension is still wound,
But somehow seems to be slowly unravelling
As we approach the more relaxed end of the line,
“All change”
And as if by magic, we do.

Diane Scantlebury