It is only a matter of minutes before you are due for your next arrival
Hoards of heavyhearted souls, myself included traipse up and down your concrete steps, with hungry, bemused footsteps.
A constant game of sardines, standing is sometimes all you will allow for, congested we stand, like an ashtray teeming with used fag butts.
Daily, early morning 'till the late night stragglers approach, you are fruitlessly called upon.
Strangers... they share nothing but a passing moment forgotten,
There is no prejudices here, no laughter at a slight tumble while awaiting your stop.
Effortless couples protectively shield one another from the drown, frustrating jerks you are famous for.
We share one task and that task is to attack your concrete steps,
like corporate slaves we attack.
We climb until we see the inevitable light that teases us,
teases our tired eyes.
And once more our tired eyes are immersed into the energy that will become our life stories.
Copyright © Christina Clark