Tube Robots
The corrugated clang and creak of the escalator
Welcomes murmurs of lovers entwined in conversation
The lilted quick chatter of tourists
Interrupted by those racing- no regard for bags, or backpacks or babies.
Mechanically they step on and off
Fever is in their eyes
To get on, sit somewhere, go some place
Sometimes they push, like children in the playground
On the platform my plait snaps in the air
Wind lifts and tugs tendrils, teasing
The madness of monotony
Rattles insistently
Like the great beast on the tracks
Hurtling towards me
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