The Conversation

Swaying to the motion of the train I look around Jostled by the crowd I move aside when nudged Smile when someone takes a seat Studying my hands Nothing has changed Still five fingers on each hand Looking down I see my shoes Nothing remarkable or unremarkable Just a pair of plain shoes. Hearing conversations I turn to listen The first conversation doesn’t interest me On my other side is a middle aged couple Holding hands Choosing to eavesdrop I lean forward Perched like an ancient bird of prey With an incredible need To hear what they are saying So much so That I forget the swaying of the train The pushing, nudging and shoving The heavy breathing on my neck The sounds and smells Of a living and moving Steel monster.