The last time I saw a man going to work on a train

His ribs were sagging coat hangers.
His eyebrows were draft excluders.
His jaw was a side view of an armchair.
His novelty tie was a toddler’s finger painting
pinned to the fridge of his work shirt.
His skin was hallway carpet.
His fingers were the separate compartments
of a cutlery drawer.
His eyes were bin night.
I can still hear his right shoe
tapping you are alive
in Morse code against the left.

© Carl Burkitt 2020

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