Commuters Tale Poem by Stevan Conn

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.