Mind the Gap

Waiting for the last tube, I felt the dusty wind
of centuries of locomotion, listened for footsteps,
echoes of commuters running
towards closing doors.

When the train pulled in, with a squeal of wheels
and a few sparks, mice scrambled between
tracks, empty wrappers of crisps
and chocolate bars.

The carriage was devoid of passengers,
nobody reading poems on the Underground -
just a battered backpack, a box of tools
and a lawnmower.

I couldn’t help humming Genesis’ ‘I know what I like’
and wondering if the owner had gone ahead by bike.