The Tube Driver

A poem about a tube driver in London.
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1. The Tube Driver

 

 

 

Trapped under the pounded empire

The tube driver mulls over sour arguments

dissecting them,

slicing up speech on the tracks

Till a frown etches into his pallid reflection

 heavy eyes holding onto desperate questions.
 

 

Forty years of eternal darkness

Of early starts and late returns

His wife was the only thought that kept him going;

Skin pearlescent, glowing under the covers

Well fed, decent house, everything she asked for.

She never even stayed up to meet his arrival.
 

 

A lethargic labyrinth 

of whispering ghosts

taunting, remarking

from post to post.

Whooshing and 

whirring through

Ear to ear

"It stops here"

He cried

"It 

stops 

here."
 

 

Stepping off the train, solid ground take him back

To the days where he lived in light, when his ex-wife loved him

Before he was drained by the journey and aged by the tunnels

Dulled by the drabness and wizened over by the vehicle.


 Yes, he remembered those days.

 

 

A whooshing echo and darkness releases him

Eyes aching, thoughts straining

The pain executed, making a screeching sound

he sacrifices himself into his occupation

Onto the line like he did to his wife.

 

He falls asleep in the underground.

 

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