Perhaps a snippet of narrative, which is after all what this form of sonnet was invented for:
Sonnet 10: Suburban travelling companions
Corinda, Sherwood, Graceville, Chelmer:
Tattooed boys with half shaved heads
and desperado airs that tell more
than they know use seats as beds.
One sleeps. ‘I hope he bought three tickets,’
tuts a greybeard, ‘makes me sick.’ It’s
soon Taringa, then Toowong.
Two boys share buds. A chinkling song
confirms the greybeard’s irriration.
Unplugged, they chat about the dole
and meetings to observe parole.
The sleeper wakes for Central Station,
which comes like dawn to end his night.
There tattoos, beard, and I alight.
I was recently looking at a photographic exhibition – scenes of ferry waiting rooms/aboard subway trains – in late 19th century NYC I think – with people of all classes sitting almost cheek by jowl – high fashion and workers apparel! Goodness knows the sleeper of your sonnet might well have hoped to travel apart from muttering greybeard – but stretched out eyes closed the next best thing – had he been able to articulate it! Brilliant snapshot Jonathan. I know it well – public transport.
That’s beautiful….jen