On a Commuter Train

Years ago, back in my student days, 
The hour was late, I should explain,
When at last I was homeward bound, 
And boarded a commuter train.

I had with me a paperback:
Marlowe’s play ‘bout King Edward’s Reign
(It had been assigned for my class)
To read on the commuter train.

I saw a man across the aisle 
His age uncertain, his clothes plain,
His staring eye fixed on me,
Sitting on the commuter train.

I paid him no heed, held aloof
And hid behind my book, urbane.
Minding my own, that is the thing
To do on a commuter train.

As he passed me by on his way,
“ I think,” the man said with disdain, 
“Earrings do not become a man.”
And left the damn commuter train.

Even though this was the eighties, 
And blokes with earrings, I maintain,
Were only seen on TV screen,
Not riding on a commuter train,

Why he said so, I’ll never know.
He must have earrings on the brain;
I sported no ring in my ear
That day on the commuter train.