This poem isn't really conventional. Each stanza is its own little poem. All are based on my own experiences on the public transport system of Australia. These were inspired by the "Moving Victoria Through Art" campaign, which is awesome. Usual price.
I open the doors to an empty carriage.
I run around reading the poetry.
All the conversations around me are alien.
Yet I speak the official tongue.
Pride of my country.
I watch the other passengers,
Each living their own lives, in their own worlds.
I know the pretty ones see me stare.
People filter from the carriage.
The din fades, in unison with the sky outside.
The volatile man takes a step in my direction.
I grasp the steel object in my pocket.
He wouldn't dare.
My phone rings.
I bide my tongue in conversation.
Some words are not meant for trains.
He glances at me as he raises the nail to the glass.
I'm no foe of his.
I get on the bus and see the same old faces.
I've given them nicknames.
I ponder my own title.
I leap for the fleeing train.
I turn and apologize to the stark white family behind me.
People don't look up.
They deliberately put a seat between themselves and others.
For public transport, its pretty damn private.
On what I did today and how I feel
8 years ago