Rush Hour

Rush Hour

6pm crowds into the station // wasps to a nest // huddle of bodies // brunt-warm the smell // stressed rubber undertoned by grease // noise of rushing, crushing wind

the black tunnel breathes

rails hum and wheels screech // “please stand behind the yellow line” // the PA is demanding // and so the bright beast hurls itself amongst 6pm // fraudulent with colour // incredulous, white and hissing

6pm pushes forward now // loafing and massing // oozing and swaying

and then there’s silence like a pre-yawn gaping

6pm pauses, knocker-straight // stares at a door jammed open // mower parked and vehemently silent

sees “mountfield” // a broody black catcher // an army backpack slumped unconscious // and silence unravels

6pm screams

fraught with heads and bedazzled sound // the escalator’s a lurching caterpillar // floor tom “bomb bomb bomb” // crashing barriers // the thunder of fear

people in uniform reach for phones // press red buttons // think to take videos

6pm hits the news // it's well before seven