Lost in a book.
Insulated from the gentle hubbub around me.
Immune to the chatterers, the munchers,
the cheap headphones leaking driving drumbeats.
Lost in a story, swayed by the rhythmic rocking of my carriage.
Station names from the tannoy float over me like bubbles,
until one pops and like Pavlov's dog I rise.
Book closed, bag grabbed, join the queue.
The trudge of fellow commuters stepping out into fresh air
Snapping out of our journey's reflective reverie.
Finding ourselves at our destination.