i could write a poem
but honestly the only thing i want to talk about
is how stupid the subway trains
with the little separate bucket seats are
the yellow and orange on the 1 line
i fucking hate it
it’s not efficient
it doesn’t reflect the glorious variety of new yorkers’ bodies
it sucks
i have had to sit on the ridge between seats
to accommodate larger humans
or humans who insist on taking up space
for their genitals to breath, i suppose
it’s not pleasant

that’s all i can think about today
how bloody calm i feel
when i see the smooth blue benches
where riders can figure out how best to share

who thought up that other way?
nonsense, that’s all


the people
who ask the waitress
all the questions about the menu
and seem to think it is possible to get
two bowls of soup and two empanadas
for less than ten bucks in this part of the city

spoke to somebody this morning
before they came here
and the waitress spoke to somebody
or maybe she didn’t

this man is a vegan
that girl has a cello
this woman is drinking red wine
at ten in the morning
while she writes her third screenplay

the waitress does a little shimmy
to the motown that is playing
like it’s always playing
she doesn’t always smile like this
but she does today