The city goblin wears glasses. And resides; In the same seats, On same the train, Every morning. Bagsing them as his own. He has the resemblance of a small aged man. He’s not. A blue hoddie marks his goblin tribe. Over the top he wears a second jacket, In black and white cameo, As though in discise. Around his neck, a train ticket is strung. Gold for pensioner, It’s displayed like a medallion. This morning he must have Slicked back his pepper hair, For its covering his baled patch. While, bristle, a few days old Masks his chin and cheeks. Snoring, he’s hunched over his protruding beer belly, Dribbling slightly, from the nose. His bottom lip is open, As though used to holding a pipe. Disturbed by a fly, He grumbles and snorts. Like a traditional goblin, Thick eyebrows, broad lips and a large nose Are features of his appearance. Suspicious eyes would be added to the list, But he’s asleep and being watched, Unobserved. Unlike his ancestors’ leather sandals, His are orthopaedic, They’re nylon black. His hands are wrinkled, With nails bitten to the skin, And they clutch at his black case, The city goblin is guarding his treasures. As the train slows, He wakes, muttering cursers. His hunch becomes evident, When he makes to stand. Snarling at the other passengers, He alightsfirst, Pulling his possessions behind him.