In this carriage we hail
each other with diseases.
We glance like friends
down the aisle, over seat backs,
between gaps and reflections.
We don’t hide, or speak in secret.
We dress in Bacofoil
let humour crinkle our thoughts.
I dial through phrases of conversation,
shuffle cramps from left to right,
clunk my knees on plastic angles,
try to wiggle xylophone toes.
Same old view / different weather…
today is snow and absent leaves,
the low-band draught has claimed my ankles,
my tickover chills to sitting rate,
blurs my fingerprints.
The conductor clips my ticket,