A tattoo at the base of her throat

A tattoo at the base of her throat,

Her coat pulled up to shield the cold

Not high enough to conceal her one commitment

But high enough to conceal what it meant.

Her head is buried in another world

Of someone else’s imagination

A nation of the unreal

Making her feel

Something we cannot see.

She blinks and we miss it

As we fritter away time

Minding our own business

And pretending to care about others’.

I don’t suppose she notices us

As she loses herself to the words and worlds of someone else.

I don’t suppose it matters either way to her

Who is watched by a stranger as she tries to escape

For fifteen minutes.

I wonder if anyone is watching me

Watching her

And what I might have missed while I watched.

If the whole carriage was torn apart would she notice?

Or would I? -

Who am lost in the world of imagination once removed.