In this carriage we share diseases,
hail each other with coughs
and glance like friends
down the aisle, over seat backs,
between gaps and reflections.
You don’t hide, or speak in secret.
You dress in Bacofoil
let humour crinkle your thoughts.
You dial through phrases of conversation,
shuffle cramps from left to right,
clunk your knees on plastic angles,
try to wiggle xylophone toes.
Same old view / different weather –
today is snow and missing leaves –
the low-band draught has claimed my ankles;
my tickover chills to sitting rate,
blurs my fingerprints.
The conductor clips my ticket,