The Jazz train

The welcoming yet suspicious gaze of the gatekeeper to the northern line rouses feelings of guilt regardless of the validity of my ticket.

The flickering lights startle me as the escalator staggers reluctantly.

The accurate ticking of the clock that nestles beneath the departure board… How it plagues my peripheral vision.

Everything is on time until that dreaded delay.

Make sure that you are on time or indeed early

The doors close on me and the jazz train moves out of the station.

A 6:55 train for a 7:30 start, syncopated clockwork.

The jazz train runs slightly behind logical timing, it has no concept of rush hour or experience of hustle and bustle.

This train is populated by few yet the empty seats occupy their own space and that suits them.

An espresso and a novel

Today’s papers have no place on the jazz train as current affairs are of no concern to this train’s passengers.

The sun refuses to rise

The jazz train penetrates the remnants of the night rhythmically

Yet still,

Maintaining a steady pace

And then,

Gradually slowing down

Until...

Drawing to a halt.

Suddenly alighted I find myself sauntering from the station to my destination under the inadequate light of the fading moon.





David, TCC