Sunday Night Tube

No one ever looks up on the tube

Unless it's Sunday night

With 40% occupancy

It's a secret society

Of the half pissed

Blind dates that missed

Eye glasses on forehead

Pretending they don't need them to read

So maybe they look more appealing

To the non-readers

That just joined

With their mini skirts

And beautiful curls

Yet stops arrive

We must get off here

Lest we stay on this loop forever

And whilst we are trapped here

each of us 

Really hope we will catch the eye

Of a tube passerby

The one that saw our soul 

A super love 

That may or may not exist 

But what the hell

It's still fun to imagine

When you’re pissed

Disclaimer: I don't remember writing this poem, probably because I wrote it whilst drunk on the way home on the tube! I found it in the notes app of my phone several months after it was written. So I apologise if I have actually copied this from somewhere and it isn't mine! It sounds like one of mine though.