Full English on the 6:17
Breakfast en route to London
everything so hot
you could almost taste the radiation.
Across the First Class aisle
a young woman in a too-short hooped dress
watches videos on her phone
self-consciously out of place.
And grey commuters
whose days blur into an amalgam of routine
take their usual seats
and pay homage to the ritual,
a daily grind that starts and ends
with the alarm clock.
“Coffee please. And full English.”
The bacon tasted a little like processed cardboard,
yet who would have thought
black pudding could stand for refinement?
I sit back in my individual airline-style seat
and watch the black world
skitter by outside
waiting for the sun to rise.