She leans onto her knees, looks tired in uniform. A poster on the
wall behind offers help & care. A number to call & a question,
‘Is she really a threat?’
She sits beneath a surveillance camera, doesn’t care, they can watch,
they’re commonplace. She take off all her clothes & it wouldn’t
matter, everything is caught on camera.
We’ve been travelling for minutes, but it feels like hours. Barely
reached the outskirts of town & I’m bored. A woman in the next block
of seats checks her hair in the window, it’s black outside, all she
sees is her reflection, a mess of hair cascades. Nothing will
ever save it, but she keeps glancing anyway, trusting in miracles.
The woman in uniform turns out to be wearing a tracksuit she reveals
when she stands, uncovering a ruck-sac strapped to her back in
fluorescent yellow, the kind that glows in the dark. She’s a cyclist
or a fitness freak, but neither seem to be doing her any good.
I wish I was home, but I’m not, travelling back up the line, a
journey I’ve made hundreds of times & it never gets better.
I wish I was home now, I wish I was Superman.