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.