Alone In A Tunnel Of Strangers

Anyone who has been in London for a while has experienced the emptiness of a tube carriage without anyone else in it.

Alone In A Tunnel Of Strangers

There was just my bag
on the empty tube train.
It wasn’t rush hour,
but it was eerily quiet,
like the morning after the violent eruptions
that shattered the city.

That day,
like this,
I was a line ranger
facing the solitude of the underground
in my lengthy stride.

In a place where you do not speak to strangers,
I feel lost without them by my side.

As I travel up the tracks
in my steel white carriage,
with its blue and red insignia,
I’m gradually joined by evening merry drunks
and couples on the post-theatre comedown
and some,
just on their way home.

They all have a story of tonight,
of every night of every day they’ve enjoyed and endured.
But tonight is not the night for those.

Maybe one day
I’ll share my story with my carriage fellows,
but until then I turn my music up,
put my head down,
and plough on home.


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