Up here we are mighty — looking down at toys leading plastic lives. A majestic gliding across the grand playground. Slowly, we descend until we are no longer mighty.
There is a peace about travelling through still buildings. Gliding through steel and concrete; the lit nether-crevices not meant to be seen.
Light pours into me, my soul, allowing me to see.
Your head, like the Earth, is balding…
Tell your children why they were born – in tubes: not fallopian but pyrex.
Women rule the trains like sharks to seat-prey: attacking with opportunity and being let. As if us men could too eat after a day of dread. But we are watched with burning eyes and scorn by the women we adorn.
The homeless are screaming at me at he and she. They scream and we walk away; walking until we no longer hear them.
Smokers tell smokers to quit. A joke to start a conversation always ending in prayer. God bless you; I hope you don’t die. They will see each other again – savior preventing – saying they should have quit.
Who cares about my fancy clothes? His fatigues demand stares from civilians. And my shiny new shoes? His boots caked with mud and marrow. A killer’s demeanor: stern and serious a stone afront my sly fool’s cool. I cannot help but feel insignificant in murderous magnificence.
Gangs talking about retaliation. Gangsters and the next big job. Families and the next big funeral. Widowed wives and their crack-babies – teaching hatred for colors: of skin and garments – talking about retaliation.