Tired, hungry, tightly cramped

Public Transport
These days
Isn’t what it used to be.

Even the poetry seems
Expressionless
What use is a poem on the tube
I need an escape
Somewhere to hide
A fantasy on this ride
And If the truth be known,
Loose bloused beauty
I’d much rather be
Alone with you,
Cool breeze blowing,
Chilled wine flowing,
Buttons annoying
And one by one,
Pure skin showing.
But here we are,
Crowded as one,
My sweat flowing
And yours just showing.


 
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