Saturday, May 1, 2010

Poem 22 dead train

In deep night
In deep brooklyn
When no one is around
And the train rolls in the station
It always comes in slow
With shrill screeches of the brakes
One never sees the train's driver
As the train comes toward you on the platform

Green and brown grime cake every step
Sewer water drips along the walls
Rats scatter beneath the tracks
And just before the first car comes
To where I stand
For a moment I'm always sure
That the subway will be filled
With the dead

Train cars and train cars full
of unattached arms
bodies still wriggling
heads rolling on the plastic seats
legs being slammed into poles
open eyes
eyes still blinking
searching for the last of me
the dead all turn to face
me and then they hold very still
waiting for the doors to slide open
watching me whether I'll run

I don't run
because I know it is pointless
the cars have come to a halt
the doors have opened
and I walk in willingly

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