She squeezes into the seat across from me
Two – equally large daughters – manoeuvre across the aisle
They look poor – cheap leisure wear – but good phones
Opens giant size bag of crisps and offers them
daughters decline – they have their own
Headline in my quality paper screams ‘What can we do about our dire diet?’
she reads, glances across, shrugs
With my perfect BMI I snack on a crunchy apple
feel my judgement
But who am I to judge this sad-looking woman?
She may have problems that are my nightmares
I sit there, unwashed hair, sweaty armpits,
clashing pink hat, green scarf, red body warmer
struggling to keep warm
The smart quilted coat was left on the train that divided at Crianlarich
It went to Fort William while I went Oban
What is there to judge?
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