The 18:36 #poetry

The 18:36.

A carriage full of suits and I am sat, bright red, tattooed and hair braided, amidst a sea of black and grey, pinstripes and cufflinks.

I often look around at people, wondering about their days.

Wives? Husbands? Children?

Wondering if they enjoy their job or if they have a horrendous gambling problem, but spend their days running a huge corporation, painted smile, with everyone else blissfully unaware.

But just for this moment, this 18:36, their stories don’t matter.

And neither does mine.

We are just travellers, going from A to B, and for this moment we are linked.

We are making the same journey and maybe I will never see any of these faces again and if I did, I probably wouldn’t even remember.

But then the train stops…

Fast forward!

Everyone springs into motion and remembers the mountain of work waiting for them at home, the ex boyfriend that they are desperately trying to avoid, the electric that has probably just run out.

Sometimes, the 18;36 provides short relief.

A pause.

before life presses play.


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