Maidenhead

Sitting down and apologising, Englishly, to the lady opposite
whose bags and treasures had been spread defensively across the table.

She curls and cocoons into her earpods, feigning sleep
as I carefully arrange my own paraphernalia 
taking care not to pass the imaginary halfway mark of our shared space.

Home-bounders file past in search of seats.
The stranger and I combine our mental forcefields to repel the invaders,
the exhausted, drunk and fast-food-loaded legionnaires of the 23:20.

From my hiding place I feel a bump as an ogre lands beside,
spilling shopping bags and elbows and knees
and without looking I pull my coffee cup a little closer along with my Self
and begin the prayer for Maidenhead to arrive.