Walthamstow Central,
   The doors slide open,
Blackhorse Road,
   Beckoning us on,
Tottenham Hale
   Entering warily,
And Seven Sisters,
   Surreptitiously spying.
Finsbury Park
   We clatter and sway,
And Highbury and Islington,
   Involuntary community,
King’s Cross St. Pancreas,
   Friends and strangers,
Euston and Warren Street,
   Close yet distant.
Then Oxford Circus,
   A blurring of boundaries,
Victoria and Pimlico,
   Of personal space,
Vauxhall and Brixton,
   A sigh of relief,
We’re spewn out together,
   At the end of the line.

Travelling on the Victoria Line today, I realised how well the station names scanned with train like rhythm.
(10.08.25)

© Ben Quant 2025
Photo by Dan Roizer on Unsplash