Juxtaposition 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.
SMG
Posts
