Death of a People-Watcher

Faces washed in the glow
of tiny screens
don’t even see me
as I go past.
Not one of them
glances up long enough
to offer a good description,
if they had to.

I slip between seats
and jutting knees
looking left and right,
ears catching snacks of
random words
too separate to make
a meaningful sentence.

My strength falters
as I realise no one is talking,
except to themselves.

The world has truly gone mad.

It’s lucky I don’t have a gun
otherwise I might be tempted
to fire off a round or two,
wake them up from
their smart-phone apathy,
scare them into action.

But they’d probably panic
and stampede and,
knowing my luck,
I’d be the one to get crushed.

Silly animals…

No, wait, silly humans.
to call them animals implies
they don’t have a choice

I think I need a good lie down.