Mist

Mist lies heavy against
the bed our houses make, 
lying in, whilst we all wake
and make our way through
frost covered landscape,
where long grasses stand,
white with morning cool. 

The train is nearly full
but I take one of the awkward 
seats that line the carriage
and force you too close to 
the people either side. 
The woman opposite is
elegant especially for a
Friday, but her scruffy backpack
and headphones belie her. 

Comfort becomes nobody
and the smell of stale coffee
seeps through the stale air. 
As trees flash past, sunlight 
pierces the in between; still
low in the sky, burning through 
frost on warehouse roofing. 

The city with all its promise
gleams as we approach, great 
structures taking root, taking
everything and giving nothing
back. People rush to greet it,
a Mecca of toil that has us trapped,
the elegant lady dons her backpack, 
marching forth as though to war