Paint it black: Man With A Bat

Another work day ends, feeling drained, glad it’s out the way,
feeling proud, I dare say, I sure earned that payday,
hopped aboard the train following a ten-minute wait,
accompanied by droopy-eyed commuters ready to hit the hay,
among them was a dude dressed in sweats, hardly looking dapper,
carrying a duffel bag with a cricket bat poking through the zipper.
lookin’ like he’d just rolled out of bed and fell to the floor,
staring vacantly at the door, perhaps deep in thought.
The doors closed, the train sighed, then we were on our way,
I sat back and daydreamed, bumpy tracks slightly made my neck sway.

It was a quiet journey to my stop, I was in danger of nodding off,
can’t sleep now, though, after fifteen I’ll be stepping off,
the sun was setting, peak hour traffic had kicked-in,
the cars outside were crawling, must be real frustrating,
sharing this tube with fellow workers coming off the grind,
school students chatting making a racket but I don’t really mind,
then it started, ear-splitting blasts filled the carriage,
One after the other like shotgun blasts, sounds of chaos and carnage,
That man with the bat turned out to be bat shit bonkers,
bashing his seat and tossing up fluff and feathers,
fighting off an enemy only he could see,
perhaps the product of drug-induced fantasy,
he uttered not a word, his face said it all,
eyes wide, teeth bared, had him looking like Jaws

Those sleepy commuters now on their toes dialling triple-0,
I guess the cops will deal with this bat-wielding psycho,
that’s where I get off, here it comes, I make a beeline for the other door,
don’t want no smoke from fool, one swing to the head I’ll be on the floor,
station attendants and police run towards the train, cuffs at the ready,
I leave the station, the heavy beating of bat to seat slowly fading.

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