Wednesday, October 27, 2010



Evening rush hour,
34th Street station,
downtown local track:

Faces pulled
from their Monday jars
hang on dour silhouettes
around the platform.
They kick grains of rice,
and wipe the dirt
from their hands
in unison and time.

a melody in my head
matches the beat and I
begin to quietly sing--

Two rats, one large,
one small, both hoary
and obscure in the dim,
search for food and run
the gauntlet, between
the 3rd rail, rotten ties
and the accumulated
refuse of a hundred years.

I continue to sing
softly; keenly aware
of the hole in my sock.



unremarkable_m said...

A tender cameo of isolation,loss and irrelevance against the proscenium of urban indifference...

Anonymous said...

I like the detachment, there is pure observation but no value or emotion seeping in to the frame here