The Daily Commute

The hot and packed train is our daily routine, The suited grey workers completing the scene, Ruefully contemplating their daily grind, With blank and grey faces and blank and grey minds. Around in the carriage you hear the feint sounds, Of headphones and stereos dotted around, A lone woman's voice can be heard down the aisle, As she loudly makes statements into her mobile. Though seemingly aimed at her friend on the phone, Her statements are delivered in a loud forceful tone, Whilst apparently seeking a work task progressed, She is keen that the carriage are suitably impressed. And sat in the corner alone sits a man, Who's starting his day with his second beer can, A woman is reading a dubious book, whilst people around her give her dubious looks. The sights and the sounds and the faces of grey, Repeated relentlessly day after day, As much of a trap as your mobile or suit, Is the daily routine of the daily commute.