Below is the poem entitled The Seasoned Commuter which was written by poet
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The Seasoned Commuter
On The platform for ten to seven
No more trains if I get to heaven
Coffee and paper held in each hand
Bought a new ticket, cost me four grand!
The train is on time, not running late
I need three hands or maybe a plate?
I’m near the front so should get a seat
I hate to stand, packed in like meat.
Here comes the train it seems so slow
But it’s just the start of my daily woe.
The doors fly open and in I rush
A dig in the ribs and a poke in the mush!
Just keep going, just hope and pray
I want my seat for the money I pay
Made it, got it, next to Tim
Bit of a squeeze but he’s not so grim
An hour and ten if we run to time
And I’m going nowhere, this seat is mine!