Subway Poem # 5
fatigued, fagged out,
fried,
glide into unconsciousness.
"don't sleep in the subway, darlin';"
pet clark warned us in '67.
how i've forgotten
sage advice.
pulling away
from morpheus' embrace
to the glare of lights
at atlantic/pacific streets,
seated directly across from
a girl with
serious beehive
balanced
on her head
and, down the aisle,
three latinas with
artfully plucked eyebrows,
i wonder
where i've arrived
to arrive
back in time
this time.
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