Underground Café

by | Jan 16, 2012 | Poetry | 0 comments

She is eating messy food
Sitting on the Central Line;
Chewing on her curried rice,
Which I don’t think smells too nice,
Brandishing a plastic fork.
Then she has the cheek to talk
To her mate across the aisle
With her mouth full all the while.
When she’s finished, at her stop,
We all watch her carton drop
Landing on the carriage floor
As she exits through the door.
Then somebody else gets on,
Finds the seat she sat upon,
Wipes some rice off from the seat,
Then has fish and chips to eat.
The Central Line has gone too far,
It seems it’s got a dining car.


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