i get where i need to, but paying attentionwill take me further.
he startles awakeand looks terrified not toknow where he’s going.
“he beat the shit outof reg,” she says, and adds, “butjust ‘cause he was drunk.”
claustrophobiawas foreign to me ‘til yousquished me to the wall.
i like the resolveof one who farts and pretendsnot to have done so.
she glances at the window, sees her reflectionin the nothingness.
his sketchbook spills offhis lap, holding the weight offuture building walls.
despite the swerves andchugs, she raises on pointe likea ballerina.
nothing sadder thana couple who sit, and stareahead, not speaking.
boy in a lip ringpouts and nibbles, pouts again,not used to its feel.
rush hour crowd and twopreteen girls stumble on. “i feel cluttered,” one says.
her hair is waxed andpinned to look like a birdcage.let me out, i think.
on the phone: “i hada dream he was ready toaccept jesus, yo.”
the thing about thetrolley is you need to beawake to ride it.
the boy tries to makeeven sneezes sound thuggish, and it’s kind of cute.
old man, hand shaking,grasps a carnation, wrapped in plastic, for his wife.
you let me take yourchair, and i want to thank youfor the body heat.
you miss the trolleyand flip the driver off. hecan’t see, and drives on.
boards with a toddler;restrains him; gets off, next stop.i’d be that tired too.
red hair, brown eyes, yourvacant stare; enactment ofdissatisfaction.
the girl cries. mom says,“it’s not a bad grade. you triedyour best.” my heart warms.
“can i sit here?” youlook at the mag on the seat.“that’s not mine,” you sniff.
grey, brown and black suits,but you wear neon yellow‘roos. you’ve made my day.
guys like you push like you know something, like even physics bends for you.
thanks for not laughingwhen i realized i forgotmy bag, and got off.
you fall; only i help. this place makes it easy to be a hero.
“i was so stoned, iate a whole pack of mentos,”i hear. my teeth grit.
jaded world - i board,you smile, and i just wonder,what did i do right?
lurching at a stop,you roll your eyes, like your im-balance is my fault.
climbing stairs two by two inspires competition.i won, but good match.
eyes glazed over, trippedon the stairs - hung over or just out of your mind?