When I stood on the escalator descending
To the Bakerloo Line platform, I studied
(As only someone brought up in the the befriending-
Required rural South could) the un-buddied
Faces ascending past posters of American B-list
Celebrities starring in the West End production
Of Chicago. My interest in a tight fist
on a briefcase or a brow furrow tripped a deduction
In my brain about where each person grew
Up or where they were going, whether they
We’re happy or not– The briefcase gripper I knew
Needed to quit his job and write a play.
Assigning a story to my fellow Undergrounder
Quelled the loneliness of this moving stairs expounder.