Here’s another poem written in my favorite venue and time – New York City subway car, a.m. just past rush hour. Today, however, I was not in the best mood. Here’s today’s draft poem, again in honor of National Poetry Month.
Sleep-deprived Ride
Three days of 2 AM
makes for a wan
morning commute.
Brain is mute;
colors blur along edges.
When a child screams–SCREAMS–
at the hedge of his
stroller, the brain
twists at its own edge,
or just pushed over,
‘my purse!’ it panics next;
awareness jerks
to the strap
over arm, wrist, lap,
that stolid mass of care that never
stays up past midnight, holds all.
Still there, thank God
(though barely sensed),
still, there.
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