Commuters jostle their way
around Euston Station tonight.
It’s Halloween, but the masked youths
Shouting “Trick or treat?!” and snatching a bottle of Evian
Don’t put the barista in a fright.
I am sitting,
Fingers frantically working my phone,
Mind racing and aware of the time.
My focus is broken by a tall, fat man
rooting through the café bins -
He picks up someone’s used coffee cup
Knocking back the beige liquid,
Then, without so much as a scan of the room - he pockets the cup.
A mother is chastising her child in Polish
over by the information desk
While the father glances round and laughs
nervously.
Nearby, a woman is lying half-asleep on her suitcase,
Eyes moving like shutters, clearly filled with unrest.
Over the loudspeaker, a male voice demands
"Could Rufus Nesbit please come to Station Reception, your grandma is waiting for you".
I have to hide my laughter behind my hands.
My train is about to come in,
So I travel to the platform, and on my way
I notice the vacant expressions on the people I pass,
Like zombies waiting to attack en masse.
I stand at the platform, the train comes in -
Boarding my carriage, my mind waves goodbye
To Euston Station at 7:45pm.
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