The Train Commuter's Psalm

Oh Lord, how heavy are my eyelids,
how tedious the hour that stretches before me.

This train is seven minutes late
due to the inevitable signal problems.

And as a result it's packed to the gunwhales:
the inspector can't get through to inspect the tickets.

The bloke standing in the aisle has his elbow in my ear
And the stockbroker sitting next to me could lose a few pounds, frankly.

O Lord, how wonderful are the works of anti-perspirants
I wish this stockbroker knew of them also.

The youth opposite has earplugs that leak sound throughout the carriage
and even across the region formerly known as Network South-East.

I cannot rest my Tablet on the table
As I've spilt coffee all over it

And no-one offers me a napkin to mop it up
Not even one.

My body screams for sleep
My mind is in a half-world between wakefulness and dozing.

And so I am poured into the midsts of despair
And my heart dries up within me.

But you O Lord lift me up
and remind me there is light at the end of the tunnel.

Just sixty short minutes and I shall be breathing London air
And striding in the morning light to the office.

So help me get forty winks, I pray
And, should I sleep, keep me from dribbling on the stockbroker's shoulder.