7:45 to Pimlico

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The train zips past stations shut during the recession
I can’t tell you which one – there’ve been so many
Commuters sit stock-still guarding their personal space
A weary woman chews strong mints, another asleep to the side
I forget myself.

The skies break into grey, brollies on the ready
People rush past, primed to watch the clock
I breath evenly, bearing memories of cerulean skies
With the rain on my face, I look up
Imagine.

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