Sitting opposite, you peep your eyes
over your newspaper, glancing at the
station sign

I wonder if you're
still figuring suduko
        or wondering what
                              four
                                    d
                                    o
                                    w
                                    n
     on the crossword is
     

in rush hour, never are there two spaces
next to each other

riding on the Circle Line

                           where each carriage follows the one in front
                           and wobbles, with no tune in particular
                                                         -certainly not the conga-
                          

       rememberance, in regular occurance, for                 
       the stations are always the same
       and the monuments never change
              even on the twenty sixth cycle,
       the grafitti still inspires you
       and the guitarist is forever fantastic
                 
I immerse myself in the puzzles page
ten across, repression
             three down
                     Columbia
                               
until Liverpool Street arrives again
for the thirty-eighth time, when
                     
                        your body j o l t s
                   from it's permanent stationary position
                                              you grab my hand
                 smile, cheekily,

with the hustle and bustle of rush hour
you lead the way through the barrier
            my hand clasped in yours
                                squeeze, both tighter

head towards the exit,
legs hollow, only room for helium
stopping mid-traffic, as we pass
           through the barrier

to whisper

            we're not just
                                     two lovers on the circle line

.
.
.

The carriage sways a little
syncronised tune of the one in front
contrasting colours to our memories   
swaying someplace new    

crosswords, sudoku complete,

radiators beneath our feet,
        a mini picnic and
limbs touching,

the power cut doesn't bother us.