3-Train Poem #1

Every weekday, I take 3 trains to work and 3 trains back.


They like

support like


(This, on the L.)

Crumpled stairwell panties

sing pink and orange between drumbeat boots.

“Tigers and stuff, too.”

Before I came here, I didn’t know about the heroin walk.

Now all of Penn Station seems lurching

Holding in guts. A woman screams

Henry do you want


The word flutters gold and green out of the deli,

through the corridors between briefcases,

from a fairy-sized Sutter Home held in a trembling hand.

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