There’s a platform full of people
Who are looking to the right
With the hope that they will shortly
See a tube train come in sight.
With their tightly rolled up brollies
To ward off the London rain –
They hope they’ll not prod others
In an overloaded train.
Briefcases hold some documents –
They’ve worked on these at home -
And the briefcase – a most faithful friend
Goes wheresoe’er they roam.
A bowler hat is dated -
Has its time come to an end?
For the city-slicker youngsters
There's a newer fashion trend.
There’s a grumbling, then a rumbling
That’s now becoming loud,
And a bustling and a hustling
From this large expectant crowd.
And look! Here come more passengers -
They're clearly in a rush
And their plans involve the joining of this
Relentless human crush.
From the tunnel comes the tube train
Which slows gently to its rest
Whilst at its doors its passengers
Are intimately pressed.
Then out spill many occupants
Whilst new ones bundle in.
They’re tightly packed like sardines
All compressed within their tin.
They’re face to face with strangers
Whom they’ve never met before –
But here it seems quite tolerable,
Not something to abhor.
The doors glide to and off they go,
- A busy day ahead –
But for certain all these straphangers
Will be back in time for bed.
Copyright on all my poems
* Straphanger: a standing passenger in a bus or train. "The strap-hangers were swaying unsteadily"