Nov 2018
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
I stop to tie my shoe, and hear a man with a gray sweatshirt, hood up, yell like the traffic and the city lights are gonna drown him out.
“You got change?” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“You got change, sweetheart?” He asks me for coins, crumbs from the table of dollar bills. I reach for my wallet and hand him a green single. He looks at it like I rained cash on the desert.
Yeah, I got change. I got it electrocuting out of my fingertips. I got it locked up in my mind with all the would-have-been’s beckoning to be set free.
I got change under my bed with the shoes I put on in the morning, shoes I tie even on days I feel like numbing everything with sleep.
I got change in every stutter, every repetition of my too-quiet voice,
These veins are swollen with change. These brains are wishing for us to stop acting like everybody on the sidewalk with nowhere to be is just part of the concrete.
“Have a good day,” says the man, already turning away. He doesn’t say you’re welcome, but I know I am. I’m a part of these streets, no questions in city or from the ***** trucks, no comments from the puddle flooded subway stairs.
“Have a good day,” he said, but it’s night, and I find myself waiting for the train during the grace period between the 5:35 and the 6:02.
Change is in the people-watching, the night owls, the ones working long days to feed families, the ones waking long nights to feed their psyches.
Yeah, I got change, it’s right in front of me.
A kid in a black sweatshirt, hood up, kicks a penny around the train platform, a sliver of dollars that aren’t worth anything until you need them to be.
I wonder if time is his greatest asset. I think it’s resilience that brings him home.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
Two trains line the platform, one inbound, one outbound, a screeching symphony of commuter rail and commuter. They won’t cross again tomorrow. I hop on the jam packed purple line and wonder what we could do if more people knew they got change.
Change is in the sky. It’s gonna rain coins into all our pockets and I’ll be catching droplets.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
This place is rundown and the train’s packed tight
But we all got change and we’re gonna be alright.
I stop to tie my shoe, and hear a man with a gray sweatshirt, hood up, yell like the traffic and the city lights are gonna drown him out.
“You got change?” It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me.
“You got change, sweetheart?” He asks me for coins, crumbs from the table of dollar bills. I reach for my wallet and hand him a green single. He looks at it like I rained cash on the desert.
Yeah, I got change. I got it electrocuting out of my fingertips. I got it locked up in my mind with all the would-have-been’s beckoning to be set free.
I got change under my bed with the shoes I put on in the morning, shoes I tie even on days I feel like numbing everything with sleep.
I got change in every stutter, every repetition of my too-quiet voice,
These veins are swollen with change. These brains are wishing for us to stop acting like everybody on the sidewalk with nowhere to be is just part of the concrete.
“Have a good day,” says the man, already turning away. He doesn’t say you’re welcome, but I know I am. I’m a part of these streets, no questions in city or from the ***** trucks, no comments from the puddle flooded subway stairs.
“Have a good day,” he said, but it’s night, and I find myself waiting for the train during the grace period between the 5:35 and the 6:02.
Change is in the people-watching, the night owls, the ones working long days to feed families, the ones waking long nights to feed their psyches.
Yeah, I got change, it’s right in front of me.
A kid in a black sweatshirt, hood up, kicks a penny around the train platform, a sliver of dollars that aren’t worth anything until you need them to be.
I wonder if time is his greatest asset. I think it’s resilience that brings him home.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
Two trains line the platform, one inbound, one outbound, a screeching symphony of commuter rail and commuter. They won’t cross again tomorrow. I hop on the jam packed purple line and wonder what we could do if more people knew they got change.
Change is in the sky. It’s gonna rain coins into all our pockets and I’ll be catching droplets.
Lights under the train station, find your way home tonight. Sometimes sundown and sunrise doesn’t make things right.
This place is rundown and the train’s packed tight
But we all got change and we’re gonna be alright.
True story. One night.
