Mindless bodies,
Crushed against one another,
In a damp metal tube under the city.

And yet,
In a city of millions
We always share this routine

You get on at 168th street,
Exit at 125th,
And we get to spend our morning together.

Faces buried in our magazines
Or ears filled with music
We share this time together

As strangers on the subway
We are fixed parts of each others lives
Even if we never speak