ThE oLd MAn

There’s an old man on my train
I keep seeing him again and again
He gets on
He gets off
He sometimes travels just one stop
But I see him everyday

Where does he go?
What does he do?
Today he’s lying on the chairs
Catching the rays
Enjoying the day
As the commuters wait for their train

He looks ruffled
Yet he looks content
As he stares down the tracks
He doesn’t move
To make space
For commuters and their bags

What he does all day
I’ve no idea
I must go to work
But there he is each morn
Watching the dawn
At mine, the penultimate stop

To the end of the line
He can’t go
Does he even have a ticket to show?
I try not to stare
Pretend to fiddle with my hair
And ask is this what he does all day?

© Leonora Sophie