The detective…a found poem

As he descends the escalator he 

notes, the behaviour

 of the people in front,

The man with the greasy hair

shifting from one foot to the other, 

looking around, shoulders hunched,

Directly behind him, the man in the sharp suit

is typing fast,

onto his Smartphone. 

Both men, and women are running 

down the left side of the stairway, 

past all the static passengers,

he tenses alert for any sign

 of threat,

As he leaves the escalator

he checks the entrances

to both the platforms, automatically,

He moves through onto the platform ,and

is surprised.

By the small number of people

spread along its length,

He savours the space, no need to fight

through a press of bodies 

to get on the train,

He checks the arrivals board,

his train will be in three minutes,

So he moves to the centre 

of the platform, and stands with 

his back to the wall checking

left and right,

To observe the people around him.
Always on duty never able to relax,

Always the detective.

I was challenged to take some lines from a novel and without changing the words to change the firmat to become a found poem. This is my first found poem. 

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