7.5 Minutes of Dark

Packed in tightFaces knit with early morning woes Others enraptured by tabloid poetry A select few in broadsheet prose As we descend in to our 7.5 minutes of black Between walls never seen Staring dully back At commuting communities Whose names not even they know Track lights flicker Shuttled forward in to their days Disgorged into the light unchanged Wishing they had arrived quicker