On the Underground

Our train is delayed,

passenger taken ill at Liverpool Street;

 

we have to stand behind the yellow line,

says the announcement,

 

omitting the details we can imagine

if we wish but our faces don’t let on;

 

blank looks of indifference,

or calm commuters’ courage:

 

it’s the way we cope as we wait,

fixed on our patchwork of thoughts;

 

and when the train comes hurtling in,

we stay behind the yellow line,

 

maybe scan each carriage

for signs of distress,

 

stand back as the doors open

to let people out,

 

then step on board to sit or stand

and carry on with our lives

 

with a show of stoical humanity -

or a case of not admitting

 

to that unbearable feeling

of being cruelly circumscribed.

.