The Conversation
Swaying to the motion of the train
I look around
Jostled by the crowd I move aside when nudged
Smile when someone takes a seat
Studying my hands
Nothing has changed
Still five fingers on each hand
Looking down I see my shoes
Nothing remarkable or unremarkable
Just a pair of plain shoes.
Hearing conversations
I turn to listen
The first conversation doesn’t interest me
On my other side is a middle aged couple
Holding hands
Choosing to eavesdrop
I lean forward
Perched like an ancient bird of prey
With an incredible need
To hear what they are saying
So much so
That I forget the swaying of the train
The pushing, nudging and shoving
The heavy breathing on my neck
The sounds and smells
Of a living and moving
Steel monster.
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