My face

She stares at him concerningly across the way,

a table lies between them.

Both blackberries out in front,

they await the dreaded text.

It bings and she sighs,

apprehensive to read its contents.

A lingering stare between them says it all.

The journey goes on and no words are passed between them.

Despite the silence,

her monumental diamond states their commitment to each other.

Her outfit exudes wealth,

designer labels sighted on the collar and cuff.

Her perfected and rigid hair,

newly fixed into the latest do.

His Armani suit newly pressed and cufflinks to match,

they compliment each others extravagant lifestyle.

I observe them from my presiding seat,

dressed in my pink coat of 6 years.

My hair is in its usual wild style;

wind blown and unwashed.

The bottom of my valley girl pants are uncomfortably wet from the walk to the station,

not to mention three season old.

I pull out my borrowed phone and glance at it,

no text for me this morning.

The contrast between our two lives is so mammoth,

so drastic that I laugh to myself quietly.

Apparently not quietly enough as the intriguing couple glare at me,

annoyed that I disrupted their awkward silence.

My stop approaches and I prepare to leave,

clambering out of the tiny seat passage.

I mutter "excuse me" with a smile and barely anyone moves,

so I shove my way past the rigid mob.

Finally, I find the door and a dear old man says,

"Oh my, you're getting out here. Let me help you"

and tries to clear the path.

"Thank you" I manage to say through laughter and I leave the train.

The couple look at me as a sway past the window,

and I find myself wondering why.

Behind her well made up eyes and expensive couture,

behind his business and busy day,

maybe... just maybe, they yearn for freedom.

Freedom from the bills, from being responsible.

Free from obligation or polite conversation.

Maybe this London change has taken away some of that from me,

can this be seen on my face?

No doubt we will just have to wait and see.