My stomach hurt.
I was having trouble keeping my eyes open.
Sitting on the train, pressed up against the cold metal pole,
resting my red,
beaten face against the metal.
The standing riders attempting to find space to hold on
while I tried to breath in
as much of the air conditioning as I could
while enjoying the last moments of the dark tunnel
before the four train spat out into the bright Yankee Stadium
infused outdoors of the Bronx.