Metrotrain existance

This long room full of tired people, making up part of a moving arrow along two endless steel bars.
Sleep curly headed man, listen to music reception girl.
Play in your purse house mum, look around uneasy and confused teenager.
Adjust your cellular middle-aged blue collar man.
This train is your home, your moving abode.
These poles are to hold when there are too many of you.
Glance at each other then surrupticiously pretend to look out the window.
The passing scenery so familiar now like a family portrait that goes on for miles.
Curious kids chatter for what seems for hours, when they leave, you long to hear their questions and curious way return.
On these tracks we go rolling... bing bing bang over each line stopping at each station exchanging a carriage full of bodies again and again.
Magazines come out and even the rare book appears. People hold their bags infront of themselves as if protecting pregnant bellies.
Your home is here rolling on these tracks, you belong to the movement and momentum, you belong to this train forever.