This isn't humorous, but long ago I wrote about the Tube, or at least it was mentioned...
The inner-city sees her on the street.
She’s toughly dressed in jeans, a jacket, boots.
She takes the underground, but you won’t meet
this London goddess on your daily routes.
She’s shy. One look, she’s gone. One word, she’s out.
But where she goes, you’ll never know. She makes
you chase her, longing for some news about
her, when she reads or writes or sleeps or wakes.
It’s all a mystery, including why
the years race by, and still you deeply care.
You wonder if your feelings are a lie,
for all this time, you’re here, but she’s not there.
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