Tunnel vision, deep below the kraken roars,
The train shivers in, the tin opener spins,
Sardines spill out onto the station floor,
You get slapped down
if you push against the salmon rush,
Is it the heat, the crush?
the tourists, the smell?
That remind me so much of hell?
Or perhaps it's because we're
hundreds of personal space invaders
and yet no one gets a GAME OVER
I shoot pure words but even that
seems to fail to pop these bubbles
that we float about in,
To all this I say one thing, though you may think me a sap,
No. I will not mind the gap.