A Man Getting Older On The NYC Subway On A Cold January Day

A Man Getting Older On The NYC Subway On A Cold January Day

Journey There

With A-frame legs to even out the jars,
of stature small, robust in faded jeans
by longjohns thickened, acorn face pale,
and pretty topaz short round fingernails.

Come settle early morning bounce and beam
right here upon this leaning longing lap!

Or stride out dainty with arms crossed snugly
with me inside kind Reason’s damping clench
at twenty Fahrenheit on plastic bench.

Journey Home

We’re packed in tight when hulk in quilted black
his footing bobbles and then backward flails.
I’m shoved against a sleeping Inca’s jeans.
What caught an eye before the fall and smoosh?

As tall as me–not as a woman small–,
with black hair wavy tight upon fair head.
Horseshoe nose ring, thin hand on bubble brew.
Another wide-eyed searching flicker glance
to set my silly motor idling loud.

Oh what is man that he should know he lies,
yet still believe with deft and rousing pride?

While There

In solemn meditation pushing for
a little brighter lighter wider sight,
then pie-eyed agreeing that we too, sore
hearts open and minds clearskycalm, must fight
so that the Good defeat all injustice–
inclusive one’s own false exuberance.


You can’t just go through the motions.
It takes a consistent effort.
How to stand up within yourself and push out from within over and over again, growing into the Light?


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