by Author Name Withheld 125

Created on: June 14, 2010

Sleep On The Train

Sat on the train, early one day,
Up with the crows, can't over-lay.
Try to catch with a nap, despite blue skies
Put my head down, try to close my eyes.

In this quiet carriage, there's too much noise,
Commuting people, like rowdy boys.
Oh to sleep, perchance to dream,
Got no chance here, or so it would seem.

Mr Headphone, with a loud tinny beat,
Squirming around, dancing in his seat.

All I can hear, is a fly in a can,
Obnoxious fellow, ignorant man.

Mr Hammer, on his laptop so hard,
pounding those keys, break into shards.
Look at me, his language shouts out,
I've got a gadget, that I can clowt.

Mr Crisp, with a packet so loud,
munching and crunching, he seems really proud.
Who eats chips, at a time like this,
It must be a crime, when they are flavoured fish.

Miss Business Course, in a pin stripe suit,
Loud on the phone, thinks she's a brute.
Screaming 'Sell Sell Sell', to the other end,
Why couldn't she have text, and sent that instead?

Snoring Billy, rasping and raw,
Like a wood cutting man, and power saw.
Wearing an eye mask, to blot out the light,
But not his big nose, try as we might.

Mr Cough, with a dog-like bark,
Like the one I saw, when I went to the park.
Spreading his germs, to everyone here,
His contagious mist, in our air he smears.

Little old lady, counting her change,
Clinking and clunking, like eggs on a range.
Turns down her ear piece, deaf as a post,
Wish I had one, to blot out this noise.

Just when I drift, into a fitful doze,
but who should come now, making more noise?
Loud-mouthed conductor, Mr Hicket's,
Shouting at me, show me your ticket.

I awake with a start, look in my pack,
With bleary eyes, I could hit the sack.
I show my pass, to the mean-eyed man,
Can't sleep any more, we're at the station.

Perchance to dream, perhaps to sleep,
Climb that cliff, it's oh so steep.
Maybe the next day, I'll get what I ask,
But to sleep on the train, is an impossible task.

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