New York City Today


My subway car carries one million men.
Improbably, each wears headphones– 
behind every smile is a calculated fear.

I know those unsubtle white hairs, 
the length of my pinky finger. Nothing
like yours. How I miss your jersey skin. 

The lights cast their mean glare
on our cheeks. Silence grows its head;
I am so close I could touch him.

Columbine blue. The grousing way
I have with my mouth. What blows
through the tunnel. I could touch him,  

but once I do, how might I go on,   
and how then would we make good
on the promises of love.