by Lowri Ann Davies

Created on: February 24, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

Morning again, monotonous, passing time, tick-tock, tick-tock tocking clock. And the rush. The step up up, step down town life of commuters, suited, briefcased and booted their perfect practiced seven o'clock trance, never moving, never breaking their pasty pallour faces to smile or wince or acknowledge. The silent voices and monosyllabic echo of the missed train accompanies their ritualistic pilgrimage, wading through one another like graceful cattle, chewing their breakfast cud.

Latte, choco-mocha, coffee, tea served with steam and haste in corrugated cardboard cups snatched away by hurried hands. Crisp and folded newspapers crumpled by eager claws looking for scandal to compliment their caffeine. Coins clatter, dropped wallets and purses cause curses to lace the air. Fury and frustration ride either side of tension ruling the creatures with iron bridle and leather whip, their poor poor backs bent over with their loads invisible and vast. Tension's whip marks furrows and tattoo wrinkles into their frowning faces, sadistic, superior.

Waiting...waiting.

The train is coming carried on thundering wheels, the unstoppable Saviour. The cattle grow eager, pushing, rushing, gulping at the corrugated cups, swallowing their scalding lifelines down their taut, knotted necks. Stopping only briefly, a treacherous existence no waiting for latecomers. got to keep on top of the tick-tock tocking clock.

Hiss, door's open. Hiss, door's close.

Those creatures had missed me, blinkered had missed me. The train had missed me.

You missed me.
Everyday you miss me.

You see I am everywhere. Im written in the crumpled pages of the paper you abandoned on the platform, you know the pages that you miss? Turnover and pretend. Those sheets line my bed, did you know? The ink stains my skin but it stains onto grime so i don't see, old black, coal black, crow black. When you drop your purses and you lose a silver coin, do you notice?
You see I am you really, deep down under my rags the same cheeks blush, the same eyes open for the seven o'clock rush, and deep deep down the same heart beats, the same heart knocks to try to keep on top of the tick-tock tocking clock.

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