Overground

The overground works by the underpass
Not quite in the bowels of the town
But hanging out in lower-middle-class
Perhaps not out of view, but still pushed down
So it can be both out of sight and mind
If not ignored, still rarely thought about
Out of the way, where only search will find
And speech cannot be heard without a shout.
Yet in those byways there is still more space
Than in the deep dark tunnels Underground;
Enough to see the sun's reflected face
Against the brickwork tiled all around
And to imagine sky. We're not inside
We're simply somewhere easy to still hide.