Step            to the side
Elbows like compass points,
        I glide.
Pull a shoulder forward,
then turn, as sharp as
the crackle of the loudspeaker.

Dance with the crowd,
navigate faces --
it’s war at thirty paces
just to make the train.

Click of heels,
there’s no place like home --
or platform four!
Beyond the sea of frowns and suits,
a young girl scoots,
bum snug in jeans.

The man beside me trips.
“Excuuuse me,”
a stalled lady lifts a botoxed brow.
I dash around this duelling pair.
If I can pass that red-shirt guy
I might get there
before the six-fifteen is full
of bleating cattle
breathing in the space.

Copyright Karin Cox 2005