The station moves around me,
Different people, different purpose.
I stand, in the centre of my world
Leather hanging on my shoulders like chain mail
Hair hanging limp round my neck.
A straggle of M&S punks crawl back from their first show,
fists waving. Heads banging.
Reigned in loudly by painfully straight up mothers.
Business men march past, dragged on by leather cases.
Night workers walk by, resigned.
Unconscious chav lays back on bench,
“Oi you f-in’ poofter, who do you are? get your F-in’ hair cut”
Not quite unconscious then.
“cum ere, ill F-in cut it for u”
I’ll love to ‘f-in’ smash his ‘f-in’ face into the back of his ‘f-in’ head.
Its so tempting.
For once Id stand up
For once I could fight back
For once I won’t look down
face to floor
and shuffle on.
Eyes burning red holes in the back of my skull.
He gets up, groggily, beer soaked.
Push’s his face into close to mine,
And I swing out
My fist clashing with face.
He’s bigger, stronger, more experienced.
I end up face pressed against the hard floor
Swollen face, swollen mouth, products of a swollen pride.
I walk on.
Anger rising round my neck,
That anger doesn’t dropp away, like burnt out leaves.
It stays there building up, burning inside me.
Till the day it overflows, comes boiling over,
Splashing blood red on the ground,
and my clenched fists swing out.
Till then my eyes stay trained on the floor.