F Train by Caroline Ponticelli

I read his words on the subway
Sometimes his letters are like small fish and sometimes he just spits into the lake

I look around for amusement

When I see the fawning gents with their tall ladies
who look so uncomfortable because they burn with youth and beauty
commodities which are a liability on the subway
I see young men hold their girls by the waist – stand and kiss and block traffic

and I don’t think it’s cute or becoming or natural – it isn’t like they cant help it
they could help it
they do it for the old maid’s benefit ball

subway
rush
gush
dirt
flirt
the rats, the smells of dirty wool in synthetic heat
the pokes with bags and back packs
the stares
the unwanted looks
the beauty and the ugly pain mix and are the same
when I am lonely
and home is no home no where

down that dank den drowns all sound else sense of elephants stampeding
and incense
sharks barks beauty coils
like rings run round her little finger
her man winds his gaze
weaving threads of proprietary pomp
through her arrogant beauty, impatient rose
like a footman he leads her away -- deferential and adoring
to what she can do for him
her daddy and her look --
the same
make futures
and stock in bonds quad
rubles
F train
Racist
Irish hates Indians and Russians
Blacks just want to go home in peace
Bad day at work
‘Shut up’
“Shut-the-f***-up”
I know how to handle crazy people like this
Go crazy
Be an Irish cop for a day
Mother f***’ers
Hand cuffs