Monday, May 11, 2009


The citizens of NY lean over
Swaying back and forth
At the wind of ghost trains
The 6 is late again

Green circles encase their eyes
As the perils of public transportation
Smile from the railroad tracks

Maggie is tired, like the day before
With a son attached to her hip
And a teenage daughter, lanyard in her hands, platting plastic cornrows

Her tongue clicks
With yesterdays gum
Nonexistent school books
Are replaced with the
Unused tampons her mother
Will find when she goes to replace
Them next month

This train they wait on
Is much like Maggie's daughter's womb
A human in cramped space
Holding on tightly
Waiting on their destination

Or Joseph
Whose negro spirituals sound
Too much like the blues
Palms curved indefinitely
From begging for change

Tony with the new G1
Quoting Drake to the
Insecurity with
Press on fingernails
And a wrap
"You're the fucking best"

Or the smell of the joggers sweat
Mingled with Jezzebels perfume
Ipod headphones up entirely too loud
With the conductors voice
And "maricons"
"Yo hold that door's" and
Relief sighs from
The women who have worked entirely too long

Or poets
Who scribble notes when
No one is looking
Mumbling the words
To themselves

Listening to the whirring

And tracks

And closing doors...

SHIT...that was my stop.



The Notorious Z.A.G. said...

Riva, oh my goodness, this is FIRE!! I could smell, see, feel, hear... The subway station. This is what I strive for in my writing, but I'm stuck in the love zone. o_O
This was tight, I enjoyed the read.

Justin Allen said...

same picture in one of my post..