To be fair- not so many people

 Cram

It was a cram train, a mind drain, a pain

Sardine’d in a small tin then, with my softer body parts juxtaposed

Against three handbags with various deadliness of metallic corner

A schoolboy’s cap brim (which I am sure had a razor blade embedded)

Two men who last washed on August the ninth, 2005

And someone wearing home made perfume mainly concocted from raspberry and garlic.

At the next station even more tried to get on, and the shoal twisted

I was wounded in the left testicle this time

The right one had had no feeling since Praterstern

One old lady was submerged and I doubt would ever be seen again

Two managed to enter our door, a tall thin man, who wedged instantly but

Who lifted up his arms to rake his armpit under my nose

And a short woman who instantly burrowed into the mass

The train driver a jerk, jerked us a couple of times

Maybe to shake-pack us in more

I was finished

I pressed the action button and my coat ripped opened revealing

Pneumatic battering rams of molybdenum steel

I pummelled the nearest away. I had my space.

Although no one noticed what I had done,

Apparently five people died in the exercise.

Oh for this degree of freedom

U Bahn rave again poem

It’s the same as it was and will be for ever

The constant stream of trains and us

Tomb riders all we cram together

International germs and armpit fuzz

Garlic fumes from bodies wreaking

Sneezes wheezes coughing fits

Handy phone ring tones loud competing

Big lips wrapped round junk food bits

Strange guttural languages shrieking

Loose children swinging round and round poles

Man with a bicycle oil stains leaking

Girl with earlobe full of holes

Beggar shuffling bleating help me

Man with accordion squeaking a tune

A filthy corner tramp sleeping soundly

From early morning to the afternoon

A can rolls as the carriage sways now

Trailing drops of sugar drink the floor

Woman gets on with a dog in a basket

Sits down next to woman dressed like a whore

The driver has fun accelerating

Breaks hard to cause maximum strife

People clutch at straps and each other

Husband looks for the safety of his new wife

I try to get out but the way is blocked

By the army of the blind wanting in

I struggle hard against the human tide

My mind committing mass murder sin

Underground 

I am on the underground. 

A cave for me

Orange and blue contrast from the shit psychology 

Of the designer, his testimony

Crammed in with no wish to shoal, 

A blackening hole

Tall bottle blonde schoolgirl with tatty bag on back that bites into my chest

As she bad-tooth mouths into her plastic haven with zest

Glancing even in the hell crush most mouths are doing the same

There are three loud conversations to the carriage a rabid refrain

Three tenors competing, may be apt to Vienna 

And nothing rhymes with that (except Sienna)

Back to the nearby blonde

Her short green tipped zit friend looks and smiles from below

Squirming at her mates success pseudo mating halo

Double-barrelled snot guns are firing off, a green yoyo display

The rustle of tissues should be heard but they are too soft when thrown away

I see them dropped though the germs scuttle into corners with no after care

Smells now of cheap scent and garlic mingled with the unwashed armpit hair

Crutches and earwax mingle and into the consciousness comes a stronger un-owned fart

Invading gas, the cherry on top of the mouldy human tart

After all it is post weekend, post stuffing and post pork

The last straw needed to complete my misery, turn up the torque

The blonde moves raking me with the strap on her bag so, there is more

The train stops, there is a rush for the bag open door.

There is a maniacal fuss

A seething wafting exodus

I am left almost alone but there is one other

A beggar released from the crush, target whines at me his brother

Bitter, bitter and holds out a filthy hand demanding gold

He needs a new pair of Nikes obviously since his must be at least 2 weeks old