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I sit in the concourse of the Metro

I watch the people

I watch, the green, the red, the brown, the blues
the ever changing train timetables

The last remnants of the food court cry
The lettuce is droopy, the bread is soggy
The hot food is quickly going cold
The first drug deals for the weekend have been done
(after all, this is Friday night)

The same man I saw sitting here this morning is sitting here this afternoon
I suppose he is thinking the same of me

Everyone’s hair is looking the worse for wear
Their work shoes seem a little more scuffed
His pants are sagging more than usual
Her bra strap slips off her shoulder, she is too tired to lift it up

The yellow tables and chairs of the food court are lined up military style
The scavenger birds have gone, the scraps swept away

I look at my phone again
There are no late invitations for drinks
I watch the changing signs
Nine minutes till the next all stations train
Time to join the throng

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Posted 23/05/2014 by DarKarsean in Life, Love, Musing, poem, poetic, poetry, Uncategorized

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