metro nights

friday evening 6:00

I’m curled into the corner of the orange plastic

headphones on, eyes half-closed

but watching,

watching all the businessmen flood on and scurry off

watching the tired-looking tourists with their bent maps and blisters

watching lookalike pairs of girls swing their hair and gossip

and I wonder where monday morning will see them

and I wonder where my weekend will take me

it seems these weekends don’t explode like they used to

but move with the lulling rhythm of the wheels and the hiss and thud

of each stop.

there’s a woman opposite me in a purple dress

with fat legs encased in black stockings sitting like stumps in dirty sneakers

her dress is expensive but her makeup is smudged,

her eyes empty.

her seatmate is a redfaced man with an almost-hidden bald spot

and a newspaper and thermos;

briefly I wonder if despite their silence they are together

but he gets off at the next stop

and she doesn’t look up.

I close my eyes

and lean my head against the rattling window,

fighting a headache.

four stops later I lift my head again;

the train is outside now, but it’s dark

and the dingy night blends flawlessly with the dank tunnel walls.

the purple shape across from me still droops;

her face would be a scowl

if the lines in her waxy lips and pencil-thin eyebrows

were more angry, and less sad.

finally the wheels groan to a halt again,

the last stop on the orange line and the passengers move

like apathetic cattle

(I avoid looking at the woman as she shuffles to her feet)

I turn up my music to drown the buzz of tired voices in the bassline,

and hope there is a friend against the wall outside

so I pull my jacket close against the november wind

and shake this metro gloom from my cobwebby thoughts.