The A train squeaks on its way to a silent
hush.
5 am in the morning, Wednesday dawning
Thursday calling—
bags in hand from working all night
bags in hand so they can work all day.
Male cockroaches crawl through the
open doors allowing them to take
what’s not theirs
switch gears
rob pockets, clip cotton
careful now—
don’t want to wake the dead up.
Holsters become flaps and
jackets become rags
no valuables to be
found, nowhere to be lost, either
briefcases to steal
no avail—locked chain on a loyal wrist
no mistaking this
the thieves will go hungry tonight.
Dinner skipped, dessert too
the deserted few, downtown crew
mouths ajar, drooling
stock options and breaking news
personal projects—the back seat drivers
to the mounds of paper work for the man
working for the man, under the man.
Head on shoulders like dandruff buddies
stuck dominoes united together
to make a top tier tax bracket
salary bracelet—
A train having gotten its half hour to
three hour
rest is rearing its engine to start another 24.
Squeak to a hush and away the city’s
prized possessions go;
nodding in and out of consciousness
swaying back and forth to the stutters
of a revamped local train.
Rising up like zombies resurrected
they exit, closed-eyed, out the door.
Midtown to Lower-Mid on to Downtown.
One by one by one.
Open your eyes.