The Barbaric Yawp

Tube lights flicker,

Tether and splinter;

A hollow sound of yore—

Gashes against the window.

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To my surprise,

The outside is what is in:

Only my face, and vacant space.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Below us, the tracks all gather,

In concrete unison, against the crackle,

It gallops, and quickens,

Whilst we sit waiting.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Waiting, waiting,

It’ll take us home;

No matter how weary you were,

Here, you are more so.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Station after station,

No familiar faces —

But after a while,

The crevices look the same,

When laughter elevates in waves.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

And yet, the outside is what is in:

Only my face, and vacant space.

I shall sit, whilst silence spreads,

Till It leads me Home,

Where I’ll laugh so.