It’s six twenty five

The alarm is ringing, buzzing

In my ear

I get up; pull a razor across my face

Shower and take my pills

Running late

Must pick up the pace

 

The train pulls me along

In its slipstream of humanity

Familiar faces

Jogging and jiving

Ducking and diving

Some still stuck under the duvet

 

 Changing for the eight twenty eight

Wide asleep reading

Not long to wait

There’s something quite appealing

 About the eight twenty eight

 

The day brushes past me

 Closeted in my room

Enough space for a filing cabinet

A computer and desk

A phone ringing

But from whom

 

No time for thoughts

 Of either euphoria or gloom

Talk with others

Is sporadic, superficial

And in vain

 

Four forty five and out the door

One final look

Everything switched off

Back on the train

Jigging and jogging

And in the land of Dickens once again

 

Change at Piccadilly

Change again

Another set of faces

Pressed to the pounds in their pockets

 i pods, tablets and phones

Switched on

People downloading

Switched off

 

Within ninety minutes

The welcome face of home

Some food

 A few hours rest

To bed

 And before I know it

In the morning

I will do it all over again