drAw and riDe, hiDe.

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d r a w n o u t
(and drawn in)
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The pain of the silence-interrupted motion is excruciating. Holding temples like rats detecting the high pitch of a trap. A game of darts. Again.

A supposed secret sketch-deep eyes. Dark brows. M folds on forehead. Three of them. Younger than he seems. Looking opposite and a scribble varied. Kitty corner.

He smiles, laughs in slow motion mute mode. He does a slow head turn.. and an oH nO yOU didn't face. I think- I've tricked him. .. he doesn't think it's him. I pretend to glance with intent at another. Preceded by another silent still shout of the commute, (also excruciating with the tick of time), he spoke.. "So can I see it???? "

Raspy voice-direct. Almost an order. I shuffle and tap. Mumble. I flash the page.. mutter, "Just scribbles... really..."- an uncomfortable giggle. Coping in mechanics. He is nOt amused and retracts to his dark alley. My pen is black.

I think - he has not eagle eyes... and the ink is not a true likeness.

Looking down-the literary scribble starts (started). Another pause and he rasps raps and rattles.. "Oh, so nOw yOu are wRitiinG sOmething down!?" What!?, my inner speech circles, dances, hollars, riots.

I ignore, and with a mouthful ready, my concentration falsely continues. I do my duty. Head down.

He leaves at East Ham. I didn't look. I kind of wanted to. He is my second to last. Appropriately memorable to complete the collection of
l i n e s. Tube aversion. Observations. I have a funny feeling about it all.