Bakerloo Line 11.30pm

Beat.
A stranger taking up all of the space
of the floor on the tube with his legs.
Singing
an unrecognisable song.
Off beat.
The ticking sounds of the train
about to start.
No beat.
From the musicians sitting to the left
with their instruments packed up.
Beat.
A shift in the emotional atmosphere.
Two young girls walked in
on beat
as all the mens’ eyes
gazed at them waltzing by.
Off beat.
Strangers chatting each other up
on the opposite side of the carriage.
Same small conversations,
completely different rhythm.
Silence.
Lambeth North.
No new passengers,
same conversations.
Waterloo.
The stoned guy to the right
chatted up a stranger to the left
on beat,
with the ringing tone
from the wheels braking on the tracks
Embankment.
The girls left the train,
the gaze moving along with them.
A guy reading my writings
He compliments my handwriting.
Charing Cross.
Current beat.
Two people dancing salsa
submerged in the smell of alchohol.
’’When you dance you cannot think.’’
Off beat.
A drunk plumber
explaining me what plumbing is.
Picadilly Circus.
The atmosphere of South London
replaced with the night life of Central.
I am thinking about fishing sushi
out of a dumpster.
The singer has gone
quiet.
Oxford Circus.
Everyone has gone quiet.
Only the thoughts
of the people losing their balance
when the train stops
On beat.
Conversations now partakes
in the eye contact between strangers
trying to guess
each of the passengers’ stories.
Latching on to prey.
A hunt in the tube.
Regents Park.
Second to last
stop,
and all I can think about,
is fishing sushi out of the dumpster.