We Imagine

We Imagine

They die young,

Peacefully,

Suddenly,

Quiet for them,

Or violent and loud?

They can’t read the death notice,

They are gone,

We imagine peaceful is easy,

That suddenly hurts so much,

We are here, observers,

Dying plays with our minds,

We hope we know

as we reflect against the din

of The Underground,

Rocking train rushing on,

Like our lives,

Stations disappearing

as the black hole swallows,

We should have done more,

And loved more,

Swept up, as we were, in the Rush-Hour,

That’s our excuse,

Suddenly it’s Knightsbridge,

Or was it Baron’s Court?

The Circle Line, round and round,

Or Bakerloo in the draught of stale air?

This morning was abrupt,

Nothing gentle,

Angrily off to work

in the Glass House,

Shrill tone of phone is agony,

Being not here is neither

calm nor aggressive,

It’s nothing.

“All change at Cockfosters”,

End of the line.

© Michael Garrad September 2011