Poem
19.09 Victoria to Bromley South
Commuters, commuters,
With laptop computers
I-phones and earphones
Downloads and ringtones
Deftly dialling fingers competing
Who is the fastest at texting or tweeting?
Calling their partners, children or lovers,
Each message identical to all the others:
“I’m on my way home”
“I’m now on the train”
“Meet me at the station
I think it might rain”
A porcelain-skinned adolescent goth
Delicately sips her cappuccino froth
Scanning Heat magazine finding nothing more scary
Than make up tips from Katy Perry.
Un-noticed and unloved the city slips by
Closed eyes would rather watch football on Sky.
Where terraces meet tower blocks
A solitary ragged urban fox
Rips the binbag on the kerb.
Rubbish strewn ragwort and willowherb.
Patchwork allotments, patched-up sheds,
Scarlet runners, onion beds.
Now suburban lawns, conservatories,
Cul-de-sacs and willow trees.
Gathering backpacks, rucksacks
handbags, briefcases,
Anticipation on well fed faces,
Exiting the train, obedient drones.
Commuters are happy: “hi honey, I’m home”.
Nicky Rowland
Kent, UK
Nicky Rowland writes and performs stand up comedy, poetry and short stories when not doing her sensible day job as a marketing assistant.
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