Tales from the Underground

A new lift at Tufnell Park Tube was broken last night, which made me think of a poem from Broken Down House

Cinderella in Repose

I’m slumped against the tube wall,
at 12 midnight.
Carriages turn into pumpkins,
and mice scurry about.
A man dressed in a tutu,
waves a silver magic wand.

Princesses go home with princes,
And the rest:
They fill the platforms.
They blink in the brightest artificial daylight.
They talk and jabber.
Or stand silently, or sway silently, or sing incoherently.

At 12’O one,
the last High Barnet train is gone.
The one I should be on.
Instead I lean against a fire-hose,
and watch Cinderella, in repose.

 

 


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