Poem 105: Friday’s Man

Friday morning, Friday’s man

swaying half-awake on the train

newspaper half open

and turning back to the page before

another famine relief request

frozen images in the camera lens

so easy to turn the page

and this world disappears

with hollowed eyes

swallowed by

the onrushing tunnel

the image screams in defiance

but is drowned by the clamour

of jostling elbows.

Anyway

its almost the week-end

and this is my stop,

excuse me, please.