Photos

You show me photos 
on your phone as we 
stand on the tube. 
Scrolling through years
of captured memories 
and pointing out the fondest. 
We don't speak, having
taken one headphone each,
listening as songs mix with 
the trains screech. 

We're on the way home 
from a spoken word gig,
and whilst images of true
smiles cross my vision,
I am thinking only of
those people, waking in 
the morning with sore heads,
still soaking in the applause,
hours after we have woken,
traveled and placed our
weary eyes in position as
the backstop in a 
game of email rounders
(The most boring game in the world).

It makes me feel all sad,
I start thinking I might sort of
cry or something. You point,
it's a photo of a thinner, younger
me wearing these great, John Lennon style sunglasses. 
I look up at your smile. 
I don't feel sad. 
That would be ludicrous. 
I capture that smile
and we disembark at our platform 
and plod our way home,
hand in hand.