I got the train the other day and a weird thing happened or maybe it didn't but probably it did
(Content note for swearing)
Camera Sound
Him, registered through my own
adjustments
The pulling in of feet, the space we
make
For strangers, still he sat diagonal.
Startled (his phone had made the camera
sound),
Peering over my book to see his hold
Not quite right, the angle felt
invasive.
Eyes on page but attention peripheral,
I watch him watch me, then type, watch
me,
Then type. Creeps don't know about the
edges
Of sight as they've never tried to use
them.
Is he fucking tweeting about me?
Or just sending my picture to his
friends?
I wonder what it was, my nose ring or
The colour of my hair, or just being
Female in public, that drew his
attention.
I look down at his shoes for clues, bad
Shiny loafers and merlot trousers,
And decide all of the above. It's not
til
I'm watching the back of his greasy
head
Bob down the platform, I realise-
phones:
They make that camera sound when you
screenshot
As well as take pictures. And I find
myself
Wondering, not for the first time,
If my bunch of neuroses have grown
roots,
That entwining, flourished and bore
some Greek-
Sounding fruit to the air. But then, I
reason,
If anyone were to judge and mock me
Though invisible waves, because of my
Appearance, it would be some tosser
In bad loafers and merlot trousers.
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