Rush Hour in an Underground Train

Standing, standing in an underground train,

A daily trip that has become life's bane,

Trying hard to avoid the blank stares,

From people like me who have all paid full fares,

To stand all the way to the station nearest work,

For to get a seat is definitely a perk.

Reading a newspaper, Kindle or books,

Still desperately trying to avoid those horrible looks,

Searching furtively for a seat - station after station,

Alas no luck for the entire duration.

Hanging onto the rails like monkeys in a cage,

Being careful not to explode into a furious rage,

Grimacing at every cough and sneeze,

Praying they get off at the next stop please!

Bumping into the suitcases, shoulder bags and rucksacks,

As the train lurches on and on through its endless tracks.

Congestion ahead, waiting for a green signal or empty platform,

As the voice of the driver sometimes tries to inform,

And we hide our groans at these further delays,

Hot and bothered as we are stuck between various subways.

Packed tighter than sardines in a can,

For a journey that is not fit for a woman or man,

Looking lost, forlorn and totally withdrawn,

Bored and fed up – all we can do is yawn.

Carcasses, bodies, souls and all,

As the train continues its endless trawl,

Making sure we don’t step on any toes,

For fear of making any loud and embarrassing foes.

The journey slowly and painfully nears its end,

As we all anxiously prepare to descend,

But there is only one final thought consuming my brain,

Soon again I will be standing, standing in an underground train.

© Victor Mamtora