Underground by Andrew Shephard

A boy studies the live rail

at Tooting Broadway

picturing death and electricity.

                Mind the gap, doors closing.

Sits opposite a straggly beard

riding the world’s longest tunnel

to keep warm. Headlines

shout on seats, a bottle rolls

across the floor impeded

by cigarette ends.

A beige mouse occupies

the seat beside the boy,

rattling round a metal wheel

in time with the train.

The tramp stares past the boy and noise

to the dark mirror doubling his soul.

Crescendo subsides for Colliers Wood.

Speeding through blackness

to South Wimbledon, brakes

squeak loud as a million mice.

Tramp exits, crosses to the Northbound.

Coasting to Morden town

soft bulbs flicker across points.

The carriage flips from tunnel night

to instant dawn.

                  All change. This service terminates here.

Clutching ticket and cage,

the boy counts twenty steps

to heaven above.