Shepherds pie on an underground train

On that speeding train, going home underground,
those silent stares, that deafening sound.
We sit together, in very small spaces,
watching the adverts, avoiding the faces.
Waiting the minutes, between the stations,
everyone the master, of non-observation.
Looking through window, at speeding black wall,
cables and wires, or nothing at all.
and I think as time, strolls on by,
what’s for dinner, shepherds pie?
While now and then, glance up and down,
at the people beside me, across and around.
And what about her, she's a nice looking lass,
would like to give her, an underground pass.
And what's that she’s reading, Harry Potter?
something a bit better, I would have bought her.
I see she’s been doing, some of her shopping,
I try to imagine, her Coco Pops popping.
But all I hear, is that grumbling groan,
of this tired old train, taking me home.
As I swear, some time soon, far, far away,
where there’s no such thing, as train delays.
I’ll just lie on a beach, on some distant island,
laughing at memories, of the suburban asylum.
As for now I must sit, just play the game,
thinking shepherds pie? on an underground train