Songs of subways overhead press out
the language of day as they
weave, screeching the overload
in corners, releasing sparks while heads inside
sway without control.
Shadow art on the pavement below scripts
across cars and people, into alleys then
splashes jaggedly onto store fronts.
The aroma of diesel fuel, creosol,
standing water, barrooms, exhaust and
steaming garbage rise to a flavor but its
mostly ignored.
Subway doors hiss open. Sullen sweaty
anxious eyed passengers file out,
shoulders touching then turn to slip by;
everyone finds a place to go.
Roger Singer 