a diner waitress
in an old-time uniform
has dark eye circles.
November 2008
30 posts
a bratty child sprawls
across bags and coats, staring
at his PSP.
after Thanksgiving
everyone carries a bagged
lunch with them to work.
she makes someone trade
seats with her so she can sit
next to an old friend.
i’m certain that some
people take newspapers on
trains just to look smart.
she flirts ruthlessly,
and when he responds, she says,
“ew, dude, you’re like, old.”
he spills his coffee,
looks around, then places his
cup down on the floor.
he makes her laugh ‘til
she snorts. it’d be cute if it
weren’t so damn loud.
he appears well put
together ‘til he lifts his
shoe, his ragged sole.
“you have to get an
apartment,” she says. he shrugs.
she barks, “just do it.”
i assume the two
old ladies boarding are friends
‘til they sit apart.
he carries what looks
like his only belongings
in two big trash bags.
his hair radiates
out perfectly from a small,
quarter-sized bald spot.
she starts with, “i have
to study.” boyfriend ignores:
“your hands are so cold!”
he sits next to her,
settling in by wiggling
his hips into hers.
oh, the contorted
faces girls make applying
makeup in public.
i can’t see any
scalp from where i stand above
her. that’s one thick weave.
train stop whose name i’ll
never tire of: “South Fish.”
i giggle each time.
you know you’re leaving
the city when birds keep pace
with your train window.
she sighs loudly to
let me know she wishes i
hadn’t sat with her.
