Published in Sledgehammer Lit Mag in October 2021
Meet me on the Northern line
in carriages and corridors
on stairs and escalators
in ticket halls and lifts.
Not the Bank branch, but Charing Cross,
and at the interchange at Euston,
our fate will be decided:
Totteridge & Whetstone,
Brent Cross and Burnt Oak?
Colindale or Highgate –
newspapers or tombstones?
Both relics of the past.
Meet me on the Northern line,
where we’ll kiss in dingy corners,
of bottle-green tiled platforms,
we will stop, applaud the buskers,
and watch the mice at play
from behind the yellow line.
We’ll take the stairs at Chalk Farm,
stand arm in arm on moving walkways,
hold hands and slowly saunter,
to annoy rush hour commuters.
We may get off at Mornington Crescent,
just because we can.
Meet me on the Northern line,
where we’ll travel to far-flung places,
where unrealised dreams
and untapped seams
are rich with new discovery.
Will it be East or West Finchley,
Tufnell Park or Golders Green?
In the appendix of Mill Hill East
we’ll embrace under fluorescent heat
of departure boards, whilst letting
the other passengers off the train first please.
Meet me on the Northern line,
and in the spirit of amorous adventure,
we may venture south to ride
Angel’s stairway to heaven,
minding the gap all the way to Kennington,
to Colliers Wood and Wimbledon.
At the end of the world at Morden,
we will rise to the surface again,
I will touch your face with my hand,
and feel your breath on my cheek,
we will stand there blinking in sunlight,
and imagine we can smell the sea.
JP Seabright 