The Only Real People

I never knew why she had a French bulldog with her

At 8:30am going into central London

But it was midsummer

And everyone sweated

And you could almost pick out the people 

Who hadn’t showered that morning

But I watched the dog

It was better than the usual sights at that hour

As the train filled

And filled

Soon I was in a sort of human sardine can

And we sweated and wished for air

Or something

I wished for Bank station, where there was usually an exodus of sorts

Just make it to Bank. Just make it to Bank. 

But between Liverpool Street and Bank the train stopped

And we all stood there sweating in silence 

And the dog started barking

What a beautiful natural sound

I smiled and glanced around

A handful of people were smiling 

Those are the only real people on here I thought

The train eventually started up

I made it out ok, but a little wet

The breeze of summer ghosted through my shirt and kissed my ribs

I walked through Postman’s Park

Thinking about that dog

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