I run onto the Q train as the doors are about
to close

and find an open seat near a poem about
the bliss of an afternoon nap.

For a moment I am caught up in the
poetry about light and breeze and letting go.

A moment of respite
from the discarded bottles of
half-drunk orange Fanta on the floor of the subway

the sad faces of the mentally ill homeless
the hucksters bullying
the passengers while they do what
they think they need to survive

and the rain that drove me underground
in the first place

instead of ambling along the city streets
on my way homeward
drinking in the brisk winter air.

November 21, 2023