Inside The Serpent’s Skin
A vivid recollection of an evening on a London Underground tube on my way home after a long day.
I was stood inside the serpentIn the belly of the beastListening to the murmurAs the viper had her feast Each time she turned a cornerI could see along her spineAll the way from tip to toePeople seated in a line Their faces told the time for meTheir ashen glare showed it was lateSome slurred and stirred and stumbledIn their intoxicated state Our bodies rocked from side to sideIn unison we wereIf the serpent turned a cornerOur bodies would concur Each time we reached another stopSome get on and some get offSome covering their facesTo escape the hacking cough Some had minds so distantThey mumbled to themselfSome had eyes so deep and darkIn different states of mental health Some swayed more than othersSome were simply drunksSome embraced their same sex loversSome were emos, goths or punks Some held phones and stared at themSlowly flicking through their threadsSome drifted off into a dreamWith ever dropping bobbing heads Some argued about everythingSome laughed whilst children criedThe world was there surrounding meThe outside there inside Every age and stage and colourEvery language in the landEvery angle, edge and attitudeSome hard to understand The life on London’s undergroundInside the serpent's skinI’m reminded in those tunnelsWhat a winding world we're living in