Commuting on public transport is something millions and perhaps billions of people do each time they go to work. No step taken and nothing touched has not be stood or held by those going before us.

Traveling in a test Tube, a stop, start, petri dish.
Exposed to full frontal viral assault, more than I wish.
Immunity challenged each time I take a breath.
Attracted down the escalator, gambling with death.

Forced to grab a support rail, the train rapidly slows.
Same as a thousand hands before me, God only knows.
Each grip before me an untraceable contaminate.
Now my face is itching, the scratch will have to wait.

Forbid the horror intrusion of an invasive pandemic.
Forbid its virulence, forbid the slowly rising panic.
I arrive at work and naturally I will wash my hands.
I scratched on the way in, should I change my plans?


More people are writing and thinking about work based poetry. Does this poem make you think of anything? Send your thoughts to editor@organisationalpoetry.com

Please do send a poem you’ve written or one you like and we’ll share it with other OP readers.

This poem is narrated by Lorraine Ansell, a British female voiceover professional.

Screenshot 2018-02-14 16.06.29



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