Monday, December 12, 2005

on the train

Is this the express?
No, it’s the local.

Jumping on at the last minute.

Standing.

Watching people.

They sit on the outside.
Force others to climb over them.
Face in their newspapers.
Somehow surprised when their shoulder is tapped.
And someone says excuse me.
Oh, sorry.
Like it doesn’t happen every day.

Tickets, please!

Swaying to the motions.

Eyes drooping.

Leather briefcases.
Leather backpacks.

Suits.
Overcoats.
Shoes.

I look down.
Sneakers and sweats.
I’m not walking in 3 inch heels.
I’ll change at work.

Standing.
I’m alone.
Dressed.
I’m different.
Watching people.
I’m observant.
They’re oblivious.

University Heights.
Doors open in the first four cars only.
Station has been remodeled since February.
Which way do I go?

Walking.
Bundle up.
Cover ears.
Cover fingers.

The bodegas.
Bins on the sidewalk.
The smell of fresh fruit in winter.
Who knew fruit could smell so crisp and clean.
I want something.

Hustle up, catch that light.
Dodge the cars.

The drugstore.
With the Christmas trees lined up outside.
A deep breath.
Full of pine.
Coughing.
Did I bring my inhaler?

At work.
Chilled.
Hungry.
Eyes drooping.

Twenty five degrees.
But the sun is shining.
The sky is blue.

Mood: Quiet.

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