I push the button,
3
2
1
The jaws of the train clunk as its mouth opens,
the 9am crowd surging through its hollow body,
eying up the row of sickly plastic benches.
The wheels tighten, I loosen my tie,
off to the office, I sigh,
as I pull out today’s ‘New York Times’.

My eyes drift towards the woman across from me.
A fragrance of citrus and strawberry drifts off her shoulder
as she plumps her pout in the screen of her smartphone.
A bead of sweat poised on her collarbone
glitters like the diamantes on her nails.

We slow,
screeching against the rusted tracks
before the machine-lady hybrid speaks:
‘East-
a split second pause
-Sixty Seven Street’.
No one gets off, so we simply sit
beneath the sizzle of electric bulbs,
their garish light numbed by ***** glass
that cradles the bodies of last week’s flies.

Like an aged rattlesnake, the train creaks and hisses through the tunnel.
I’m attacked by a river of thick black hair
belonging to an olive-skinned woman who yaps into her cellphone:
‘no, no, quiero ver Times Square!’
I close my eyes and listen as her tongue rolls and dives
taking a bite of my bagel from Starbucks.

‘East-
anticipation
-Seventy Two Street’.
Although preoccupied with different thoughts,
expressions
destinations
the bodies on the carriage drift and sway with the motion of the train,
as it stops
and starts once more.

Two children in uniforms twirl around the carriage,
their laughter more electric
than the current that bristles below our feet.
A man
tickled by the dreadlock that sweeps over his face,
looks on with jeans so baggy
his legs melt into the seat.
The Jamaican flag blares from his t-shirt.

Next to him, a man bakes in a moth-eaten waistcoat
clutching a wallet with quivering fingers.
I follow his gaze to a picture of a woman
black and white with coffee stained edges.
His wrinkles deepen as he smiles at his
wife?
alive?
I notice glittery pools of the past forming in his eyes,
perhaps not.

‘East-
my stop
-Seventy Nine Street’.
As I glance down at the platform’s monotonous shades of concrete,
and brush the dust from my grey tweed suit,
I think to myself
how colourful Upper-East Side is.
I shall never stop travelling on the 9am subway to Seventh Avenue.
Without it,
how boring my life would be.
Without it,
I wouldn’t be me.

In the snow and the slush
I'm walking in a rush
Walking fast, coming last
And my toes are losing touch

Snow be upon me, and render me helpless

It's raining cats and mice
And the window don't entice
Water wet, mix with sweat
Under awnings and street lights

Rain be upon me, and render me helpless

Waiting for the train
There's one in the other lane
And I wait, always late
Wait an hour till it came

Traffic be upon me, and render me helpless

I get on and and there's a crowd
And the ruckus really loud
Hold my breath, choke to death
And my feet don't reach the ground

Claustropho-bia pon me, and render me helpless

And when I'm helpless, I can feel
What's a phony and whats real
Cause I got earphones in my ears
And I live beyond my cares

A women boarded the same subway stop as me today.
She wore a white, flowing shawl with tiny purple flowers on it
that stretched down to her knees.
She reminded me of my childhood and of my mother in her thirties.
She held a grocery bag with daffodils in it,
and I felt she was something rather special.

Perhaps we had been joined in each other's lives
for these fifteen minutes,
for some strange reason,
much unbeknownst to the two of us.
I tried to figure it out,
but ran out of time,
and as we emerged from the station,
she walked north,
and I went east.
Maybe I'll never know.
Maybe she was just a woman
with a white shawl and purple flowers.

I met you across the subway,
we took a walk at the Central Park.
We went to a $1 pizza restaurant on our first date.
And spend the rest of our date at The Met.
We moved in together in an apartment in Tribeca.
And we go to work in Manhattan.

But one day on a sunset,
you took me to The Empire State building
and propose to me.
And we got married at the City Hall.

Here comes the 'Rush Hour';
Commuters in a hurry
just to get a seat.

Hello.

Sitting cross-legged in a Subway
Doors open and close repeatedly
Footsteps resounding every now and then
A pair of daily sport shoes stopped.
Saying something certainly in human language
Listening with full attention, well understood.

You should go?

Stood for awhile in silence and handed me a ticket
Stretching out a hand, and feeling the warmth coming from the other end

You should go.

Begging the heart not to tremble upon whispers that just speak to the delicate night.

Love owes him proof
And guarantees written down
Or so he believes
His eyes caught by
Flies attracted to bright,
White lights in the subway
So sober and grim
How could anything,
Or someone, ever
Feel the same for him.