When the train jerks to a halt in November gloom
a young man surprises the silence with a voice
that flows the way cream pours from a jug, and passengers stop
looking at what they cannot see outside and voices fold
into voices as football fans, shoppers, tourists, children –
sitting, standing – become an upsurge of song and no-one
can stop themselves joining in as the tune is lobbed
from seat to seat, over tables, between people, across the aisle
and the sound pushes at the windows, bounces off the ceiling,
throws itself through any chink, into the fog, the morning.