Tube Talk

From across the aisle I saw him write,

Urgent notes to her, he called The Muse

Stuck between a noisy door and a black hole,

On an ceaseless ride of the underground

Where winds arise mid-tunnel and poems float around

On walls in honor of buses

And the city and it’s ancient sights.

 

We rode on and never seemed to stop,

Till suddenly at once at halt somewhere beneath the ether

A sudden blast of air

Reckless, careless playing with hair

And clothes

 

A general lack of urgency descended on those

Who longed to hear the words that would emanate

From that dilapidated book

But those that were, were very few,

They were just me and you