It's the routine
Of the day by day
The Q like a rocket,
An express machine
Surfaces from the dark
Like a submarine, 
An enormous whale, 
Surfing the afternoon, now bluer with winter, 
Gliding past buildings,
Their windows lit
Like bright eyes
That must have seen our faces, 
And a thousand expressions
With no surprise, 
Silent observers
Of the ancient cycle, 
Living our lives
Under train times
Transfers, delays
Subways with no commitments.
We look up from our phones
Reassured of a world outside the doors, 
A last breath
Before we get swallowed by the tunnel. 
LBCH