Sunday, riding the Northern line.
The tube is nearly empty.
I look over and
There he is.
His trousers are caked with mud.
His face is smudged and beautiful.
He hasn’t moved.
Is he asleep? Passed out?
Can’t stop looking. Have to
Move down toward him.
His arms have been washed clean.
Soft blond fur covers them.
Our train jerks, speeds forth, turns.
He does not wake.
He’s pliant; a manly rag doll.
I’d like to know what he smells like.
Stops come and go.
Will he miss his? He’s unaware.
Will I miss mine? I can’t
Stop looking.
What’s he dreaming about?
I take his photo.
Seven times.
I hope he doesn’t wake up.
I hope he does.
I want to tie his shoe.
I wonder what kind of man he is.
I wrap him up, pack him away
In my mind.
Text & Image: Kenneth Hill
Tagged: London tube, people watching
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5 Comments
I don’t know why, but I teared up reading this. It’s beautiful, exciting and a little bit sad. I love it x
Thank you Sally. Your words mean a lot. xo k
Oh, that’s Very nice, Kenneth…:)
That’s really beautiful KH.
You’re like the paparazzi!
But your audience is pervs like me!