To Work, To Work

feeling choked and broken in the morning rush
the dreamy time outside time in the morning crush
once more into the fray pressed and suffocated
drowned in such noisy silence becoming asphyxiated

pooling light spilling from the flickering fluorescence above
chilling passage of the cold brushing over coat and glove
being swept along on the tide of business blue and grey
jolting into glass partitions with the train in its usual sway

eyes like headlights open bright and firmly fixed ahead
then they dart about the station my stomach feeling like lead
making sure this is not my stop searching for a sign
two more stops yet to go on the Hammersmith Line

settle into a restless pattern eyes dancing over it all
watching people and reading ads waiting for my stationís call
the sterile warmth of the carriage with its selfish intimacy
a temporary haven from the Winter a small underground sanctuary

Moorgate fades behind us in the perpetual tunnel gloom
Liverpool Street looms ahead and my stop arrives all too soon
breaking from my blissful thoughts I struggle up the stairs
bearing weights of weariness and individual glares

again with the padded barrier I pass through Hades Gate
checking sometimes three times ensuring I am not late
leaving behind the filthy air and the press of the stranger
I make my way to work to work wary now of taxi danger

at last the desk and creaky chair so familiar to behold
and although itís chilly the office is not too cold
so here I lurk nine hours waiting to do it all again
to face the foe and dance alone on a stifling train Ö

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