Curls of curiosity
rise from a child, legs kicking,
head tipped, on a tube station platform.

Unfurling
from her head, green fronds
tentative in hot air. A greenhouse this is.
See them twisting,
reaching like small hands.
Daring for the ceiling, the white tiles,
light glancing on each. This is new.

The fronds uncurl
a little further, and there are posters too,
gummy with glue. And a sort of wrinkle,
that fades a little more
as each stalk spills from the small skull.
Now discovering a fat black
at each end of the platform,
a kind of wide-open mouth. And a slight rumble
like a hungry tummy, swelling from the dark. 
A roar and a rattle and a red and white train
hurtles forwards.

                       The tendrils stiffen,
startled. Contract and draw
back inside the little head.
But it will only be seconds
before they are twisting
in the air again.