I close my eyes on the commute home.

It’s true that crowds make me feel alone—

But most alone when I need one.

I don’t need to see the urinal as I pee.

I would rather not look at each station or face

Even though I know the mundane is a kind of poetry,

And it’s a miracle that every image is in its place.

That’s what she would say when I sat next to her

And she would look out the window at the mundane

And she hated when her view was blocked by another train.

The subway door presses on me. I discern winter coats,

Enough world for me to experience.

I can hear, in a few, passionate, musical notes,

More than everything I see, including this world that looks back at me

With a need, or two, a little sexual attraction, a little curiosity.

I would rather hear the music.  I close my eyes.

And then I open them. There’s the world. No surprise.





1 Comment

  1. February 23, 2016 at 3:42 pm

    Absolutely captivating I could clearly see it all

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