His hair sits left to right across his skull
as neatly as the lines on his forehead,
the last night iron-creases on his shirt.
His cheeks sit soft like an peeled banana.
It’s fun watching his eyes bury themselves
into every word that’s being said to him
from the other side of his train table.
There is no coffee in front of him,
there is no tea in front of him,
he is awake because it is the morning.
Look at his fingers go, jumping from key to key
on his laptop. I can see words
like Sure! and Nice! and No problem!,
each one a colour on his rainbow socks.

© Carl Burkitt 2022