I am at a train station

Sitting idly with nowhere to be

Still when I don’t see the train come

I feel a surge of impatience

Styles of dress reveal occupations

A briefcase swinging with nothing in it

The one who holds it is fixed with a stern face

I study it and doubt his sophistication

I don’t know why

I board and almost sit

on the darkness of piss

I didn’t smell it – I saw it

Why do I assume that it’s piss

From where I am I can see

The conductor swaps a sloppy kiss

With a young passenger

Though they make out voluntarily

It just looks like he’s harassing her

The train moves

We go into the underground section

I hear a sigh unrepressed, proud even

As phones lose connection

The darkness is cozy

So many people are in this space

So many stories – for every 1 of triumph, how many of disgrace?

We emerge into the light, though it is cloudy

By comparison bright

It is all relative like morality

What would you do

if a nurse performed witchcraft

and cursed your newborn

with a malady

Society made possible

so many abnormalities

No shit

I think of this

kind of stuff as I exit

the Red Line

A man drops and breaks

a bottle of wine – then says “fuck” – very convincingly

He seems devastated like his spirit levated and left him

A guy I pass as I leave befriends me with a pamphlet

promoting insurrection

I read it with faith but the plan spelled out

it’s too vague.

It is not a plan

just a notion

What would I devise

if given the chance to lead rebellion

I think this thought as I see a lovely young lady

Pull a scrunchie out of her moist hair

Adorning a shirt reading: “Fuck me Orwellian”

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