On the midnight train watching the world pass by;
You’re a porcelain doll sitting opposite,
Subtly, dolled up to the nines,
With eyes vaguely blood shot,
Shedding tears of sadness,
For a loved one no doubt,
Trying your best to wipe them away on your sleeve,
Yet they just won’t stem the flow,
A kindly black lady beside me offers up a entire pack of tissues,
And, you accept it with a graceful ‘Thank you’,
Managing a embarrassed smile somehow;
We may not be a homogeneous whole (if we ever were),
We are though part of a collegiate,
Of common courtesy,
To observe from a distance and not overly pry,
And, I’m proud to call it my second home:
London town.