All Change Please

The end of the line
is coming and I’m glad
because the too blue upholstery
is hurting my eyes plus
my fellow commuters seem to
have turned into zombies,
leaning in to my space,
eating my sanity, my brain.

I had a home behind me
this morning but the quality
of sound when the door closed
means I won’t return.

All change please.

Nothing wrong with him
except that image in my head
of a pound-store plaster
against a raw wound.
I’m sorry if I stained him
with my self-deception
- that wasn't fair or meant.

Up, into the light at last
somewhere I’ve seldom been
into a sheer cliff of noise,
people, moving people
hurtling away like time,
broken into moments
rushing back again.