Weirdo on the Train

Sitting on the subway train,

Backpack on my right.

Music blasting through my vein,

I don’t care if I’m polite.

A man comes on the train and sighs,

His feet hurt from standing.

And I’ve run out of alibies,

I move my bag; I’m understanding.

His palms are soaked in sweat,

His nails have turned black.

Letting him sit was my regret,

There’s no way of turning back.

He asks me for the time,

I tell him half past ten.

His hair is streaked with grime,

He pauses then talks again.

He asks me if I go to school,

I nod then turn the volume up.

He gapes at me like a fool,

“Are you all right?” “Yup.”

He glares at my reflection,

I plug my nose to drown his smell.

I have shown too much affection,

So I crawl back into my shell.

How I hate mornings like these,

Where I must frown and strain.

Dear God, I beg you please,

Stop spending me creepers on the train.

Comments

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