she wears a diamond-
studded cross, and reads a book
called the simpler life.
February 2008
31 posts
the businessman sits,
gestures for his girlfriend to
use his lap. she won’t.
“y’all got old people
names,” he says. “like willy. and
charles. and juanita.”
the man i’m next to
fidgets at each stop, anxious
to be rid of me.
a woman sits with
two bags of groceries, filled
only with cat food.
some people take such
great measures to avoid eye
contact with strangers.
a man, hands free, boards
with a toddler who has two
heavy bags; unfair.
“i love the snow!” he
exclaims, and thirty sopping
wet passengers glare.
a blind woman finds
her stop, her bearing, just by
memory, alone.
with narrowed eyes she
glares at the couple, who use
romantic whispers.
coffee, a tote bag,
her phone - all things she carries
just in her right hand.
she tells a story,
and laughs; her seatmate listens
to it, and doesn’t.
she rearranges
her infant’s hair strand by strand,
scared she might hurt him.
they kiss as if no
one is around, as if they
invented kissing.
he wrings his hands, looks
down diagonally at the
aisle, anxious, afraid.
she starts to falter.
he steadies her, his hand on
hers, though they’re strangers.
i’m bewildered by
the guy who smirks at me when
i miss the trolley.
they somehow even
spoon as they’re leaving the train.
they’re lucky they’re cute.
