I see you often
Stretched across the card reader
That guards the step free access.
I guess you have a story,
Not just a pat on the head from each passing commuter.
Today your cover’s blown!
My train is slashed from eight carriages to three,
This puts me centre stage at Gypsy Hill
Instead of up by the buffers.
You are sitting on a lap,
Looking darling sweetness, light,
But what is this?
The lap is not at ease!
She doesn’t stroke you,
But she dare not shove you off.
You become restless
And take to clawing at her scarf.
I thought you were perfection!
You are impetuous, cranky.
You attention seeker, you.
But I am pleased to see you,
And see through your disguise.
I trust you’ll see through mine.