People on the platform

The commuters slowly gather
For the delayed eight twenty-seven
The chill of the morning
Wakes those still in slumbering heaven

All manner of colours adorn
North-bound Platform one
It compensates slightly
For the absence of the sun

Zebra print shoes
Matches zebra print top
A variety of heels
Go 'clippety - clop'
A traveller calls out loud
In a guttural way
All heads raise in surprise
That's not the commuter's way

Bags are hoisted on shoulders
As the carriages approach
On each other's personal space
We ignorantly encroach

People on the platform
Barely notice passers by
Except for short skirts or cleavage
That catches their eye
People on the platform
Why are you so blind?
There's a million tiny details
To notice, to find

On the train it's no different
Everyone sits in solitude
Not even acknowledging my 'bless you'
Really, how very rude

Totally blind to everyone else
Lost in their smart phone world
Just as is the writer here
As this poem unfurls

An impatient lady
Continually taps
The sneezing continues
As newspaper flaps
Father and son by me
Exchange words and looks
As we stop at a station
Heads are raised from books

People on the platform
Make their way up and out
Headed towards whatever
Their day is about
People on the platform
See you when it's home time
And then may be you too
Will appear in my rhyme