A Central Line View

Seven minutes more
In a strip-lit sardine can
With persistent smell of B.O.
Burning face and underarm

We commute without much notice
Paid to wonders understood
Underground and underwhelming
So familiar, The Tube

With the eyes of travelled strangers
Lit by glow of old, yet new
Tracing coloured lines that link our
Sprawling city, as they do

Sighs impatient at the humdrum world
That passes Perspex walls
Tourists scorned by jaded Londoners
Ignoring other souls

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