Across the Aisle of the Underground Train

April 1, 2012

Across the aisle of the underground train
The music begins to stray from her ears
Staggering, weaving, it falls upon me
Not hard, not in anger; it is familiar
I know the peaks, recognise the refrain

And I watch as the corners of her mouth
Curl just so slightly with the sound of it
And her hands clench in some kind of caress
As if perhaps the heat from an old love
Has kindled life anew within her bones

Her smile growing now, as mine must be
She rises slow, rights her skirt and waits
Patient and calm before the doors
And I search for the music one last time
Listening for the traces as she goes

But I find, in her wake, the tune remains
And for a second it seems like a dream
Until my smile lets way to laughter
As the source becomes clear: not her at all
But a man, a few seats down
Across the aisle of the underground train

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