The sporadic line of mallard men,
jostling through the cabin,
bills rattling first class vocals.
Ducks in a row,
Almost clones,
Suit trousers, white shirt,
No seat reservation,
Business face,
Surprised at busyness.
I am a fraud in this class:
Jacket still on,
Rucksack, not wheelie case,
Seat reservation,
Giving a fuck.
Then a bolder one.
Eurekas to the lady opposite me
that next to her is only booked from Milton-Keynes
He squeezes in,
and sneezes unguarded
for an hour to London.
I want to move seat,
but I’m riveted
by polite observation.
Milton Keynes comes and goes
Another mallard passes, pauses,
And thinks better of demanding his seat.
A better me would say “It’s okay, he will move”
But I’ve learnt its best not to interfere
with nature.