Commuters Tale Poem by Stevan Conn

Commuters Tale

Rating: 4.0


On your marks, let the race begin.
Pitter patter feet, to their destination.
Commuter hoards, eagerness awaits,
A little more room, onboard the train.

A sigh of relief, I got a seat,
No iPads, book readers, no 'mind my feet'.
I look around, they're crammed by the doors,
If you put your paper down, there's room for one more.

Three more stops, I'm nearly there,
A queue for the escalators, no fast side there.
Through the barriers, Oyster taps out.
Peak time fare, £3.20 it counts.

Arrive at work, another crowd at the lifts,
Two more minutes and I'll start my shift.
iPod turned down, no more ticking beats,
Working day begins, journeys memory retreats.

Safe and on time, I really can't grumble,
A commuters life is not bad in London.

Thursday, March 13, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: london
POET'S NOTES ABOUT THE POEM
A tale of my journey each day on London's 125 year underground. Always love the energy and observing the sights. Sounds of pitted patter feet hooked me this time.

Songs by Stevan Conn on Soundcloud. all copyright Stevan Conn Ltd.
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