The Commuter

The Commuter

The sky: a sullen slab of manganese.
The air: a sapping mist of drizzle.
Today I feel morose
and out of step,
flat-footed on dank pavements.
Battered and rammed,
am I invisible?
I played my familiar trick:
I can stand anywhere on the platform
and still be static as the tube sweeps up-line.
Perhaps tomorrow
the sun will blossom.
Tomorrow, perhaps
I will feel indigenous.