#claustrophobia - Hello Poetry

August, the Red Line, connected tanks of bolted plastic vertebrae. Every seat gone except five rows up, where a sea lion sprawls across two, stuffed backpack, yellow jacket spread out like caution tape. His grunt a wet bark at the glow of his screen. Middle-school deer slip into the aisle, chatter clipped when the sheriff drifts past, their ears flicking, smiles bitten shut. Not a predator- just a gelded ox, chest puffed, badge sagging, glass-eyed, chest rig clattering with blanks. Two lemur-children cling to their tortoise elder, her shell steady against the sway of the car. She shepherds them from the surge of riders: loud Dodger blue parrots in cholo socks, moth-women with plumed lashes beating the stale air, a stray dog, gutter musk dragging at its haunches. And one gray bear muttering alone, arguing with her reflection. Between Koreatown and MacArthur Park, somewhere the sea begins to breathe again, then, feathers forcing through my skin- an alley gull knifing into this clamour, scavenging inside its exhaust. The car rattles, its ribs plated with blistered posters: museum wings open to no one, ‘register to vote’ fading into graffiti script, flu shots promised by smiling ghosts. A bruised hatchling staring out beside the words See something, say something. The warning lights glow like eyes hunting in the dark. From its flanks the train unfurls iron claws. They rake the tunnel walls, the city’s bones, the dark itself.

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Sep 29, 2025

Sep 29, 2025 at 10:00 PM UTC

William-A-Gibson

The Gull Below

August, the Red Line, connected tanks of bolted plastic vertebrae. Every seat gone except five rows up, where a sea lion sprawls across two, stuffed backpack, yellow jacket spread out like caution tape. His grunt a wet bark at the glow of his screen. Middle-school deer slip into the aisle, chatter clipped when the sheriff drifts past, their ears flicking, smiles bitten shut. Not a predator- just a gelded ox, chest puffed, badge sagging, glass-eyed, chest rig clattering with blanks. Two lemur-children cling to their tortoise elder, her shell steady against the sway of the car. She shepherds them from the surge of riders: loud Dodger blue parrots in cholo socks, moth-women with plumed lashes beating the stale air, a stray dog, gutter musk dragging at its haunches. And one gray bear muttering alone, arguing with her reflection. Between Koreatown and MacArthur Park, somewhere the sea begins to breathe again, then, feathers forcing through my skin- an alley gull knifing into this clamour, scavenging inside its exhaust. The car rattles, its ribs plated with blistered posters: museum wings open to no one, ‘register to vote’ fading into graffiti script, flu shots promised by smiling ghosts. A bruised hatchling staring out beside the words See something, say something. The warning lights glow like eyes hunting in the dark. From its flanks the train unfurls iron claws. They rake the tunnel walls, the city’s bones, the dark itself.