Laughter, the half-heard talk
That flows between seat, isle
And seat
While the school outing lives
Each second as it passes:
A rushing river held
By high-sided rock
Since the tall teacher whose broad back
Cannot fit the seat, smiles
And reads his book in peace.
No seats ripped, no spurting
Cans of beer.

They do not see the angry sad young man
Kneading the train's table
With his fist:
His swaying form, his eyes,
Signal strife seen before
Within walls within Wards which were
Locked.
He does not see the city passing
Beyond his window
Nor the blue light flashing
As a car is sped along a nameless street.
He just begins to cry,
Until the train stops
When up he leaps to his exit and his life.

Only incidents
And I lay my pen aside
To close my eyes to see one woman
Who lives within my peace.
And the world will still be there
When I awake
 
 

DW Myatt