stepped onto the tube as if
I knew what I was doing.
Breathed and looked around myself,
smiled amongst the ruined

sets of seats and frowning faces.
Walked against the clatter
and rattle, sat beside some guy.
Sneaked a glance, saw splatter

of ink on top of pocket. Sly-
grinned and looked away.
Two women sitting, looking grim,
looking old and grey.

A family of tourists, foreign,
babbled clutching bars,
clutching suitcases, clutched tight-knuckled
as train stopped. Saw stars

as lifted head from floor. Rubbed
forehead with hand. Stood
as voices whispered questions, hushed
gossip heard in a flood

of quiet. Sat back down on bench,
tried to look like cool
Londoner: in imagined scenes, I never
panicked as a rule.

Got out phone, wrote texts to send
later, checked diary, checked
that I was on the right line.
Though I knew. Wrecked

bag with spilled water; tried to
soak it up with paper.
Played a game; sighed; browsed through
films in pay-per-view.

Listened out for sounds of moving.
Checked time on phone.
Eight minutes. No need to worry,
I was hardly alone.

The tourists had started panicking, could see,
their eyes gave them away;
the darting movement of pupils, as though
they could set right this day

by moving for it. I picked at fingernails,
considered conversation,
decided against it. Eleven minutes.
Sat with no elation.

The guy to my left was reading a book,
all casual like. I knew,
though, felt the shiver of skin,
knew he was scared too.

I sighed. Fourteen minutes and I was
late to dinner. Shrugged
jacket from shoulders; the worst part
was losing the clothes. Tugged

down my jeans and reached for the sky.
I was lightning and fire and could feel
muscles stretching loose. Screams
shook through carriage. Peeled

off skin (imagined this must be the
worst part, for them at least).
Felt the pain ripple through new body
- the hunger never ceased.