London Stairs for Going Down

“Mind the stairs, mate,”
he shouts in a harsh tone.
I look up, he down at me, his face
that of an angry young executive,
well-groomed, a werewolf for all I know.
He points down at the stairs we’re on,
and now I see the red arrows indicating direction.
“Other side, eh,” he barks again,
thumbing to the stairway next to this one.
I’m new to London, and I don’t know
their code of the stairs, how some in the train station
are for walking up, and some for walking down.
I say, “Oh, I’m sorry,” turn around and head back down.

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