Commute Salute

On the Holloway road I sleep by the train line. An intercity line. At night I hear the trains creep. The creeping, sleeping, sleeper trains. Lugging purring, heaving bodies to the city like corpses to the morgue. At indeterminate instances the whine and squeal of brakes reminds me I'm wide awake. At others it is this easing off of metal, this acceleration of steel, that nudges me towards unconsciousness. When I rinse my breakfast dishes, up early with nowhere to go, I see white shirts crushed in standing packed carriages, awaiting another day of the slaughter, and I say a little thank you.