The 6:01 Commute

Break-run through the streets of Manhattan;
Fly into the rush hour;
track number... track number... 13! GO!
 
Riverrun of people pushing into the cars
whoosh! thunk! of closing doors
mish-mash of "personal belongings",
    the adjusting into the window seat.

and the grey-suit businessman next to you,
    beer in one hand, briefcase at his feet,
    chugs away at the last drops
    of what is now only backwash. 
 
and the conductor proclaiming "All Tickets Please,"
    as row after row of ordinary people
    flash their monthlies
    like a membership to some elite club
    that they wished they weren't part of. 
 
and my big, red mohair scarf under my head
    as I hug my jacket,
    and slide to sleep. 

-A.Sah'92