The Same

They walk in line, following the same strict code
of what not to wear, how not to speak,
reading the same prescribed print
through the same prescribed lenses.

A grunt of gratitude or apology, an avoidance of eye contact
as they, unknowingly, think the same thoughts
of the same FTSE high flyer and the same near-breaking-point-babe.

Change here for uniformed mediocrity,
The next stationed stop will be indistinguishable.

That man is talking to himself.
That man is Asian.
‘Don’t blow yourself up today, I’ve got a meeting with Claire from New Media
about the Customary Corp. account.’

The same branding, the same blue and white collars, the same attitude.
The same hate, the same adoration.
The same currency.
The same fear, the same lust.
The same.

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