Multiple bodies sitting on a crowded train,
becoming aware, feel Andrew stand
and wobble for thirty minutes;
unwilling to give-up their little seats.
Outside, the sun is cool,
(you might expect cold in winter):
look down, stare ahead, or sleep;
‘we don’t need any connection, eyes hint at a danger’.
Angry, I stand by him
on a raging mind-trip - disconnection, society, media! -
while he rocks and smiles, decides to blow kisses
at reflections in windows, ghosts
and pale echoes of something and nothing.
Then he blows a few more - to the sky.