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
As he leaves the escalator
he checks the entrances
to both the platforms, automatically,
He moves through onto the platform ,and
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.