The Angel of the Northern Line
The angel keeps watch
over those ascending and descending,
the boy in a baseball cap, ears beating with rap,
the woman whose costume matches
the colour of the Mohican cut
of the man passing on the other side,
the archer with bow but no arrows.
The angel is poised like a sprinter,
feet about to take off and launch through the air,
spiralling leg muscles, curving and merging
with the curls tumbling down his back,
his wings billowing like sails,
he is ready to fly and would be soaring
but for the bolts binding him there.