TFL poster girl.

she smiles wide like the mother of my child, in another reality.
maybe we’d walk sometime, talk sometime if I knew her,
saw her, at least in three dimensions.

in passing I like to guess her name,
waiting for trains; parted brown hair, glaring at gripped pages;
candid with an air of candour,

our arms linked neat in muggy market-crowd,
fresh and shared wares bagged
in slumped shouldered organic cotton, swinging so lovingly.