Why would you want to be tricked
Into thinking you discovered
Something?
That’s your ego
Desiring glory
For fear of being average.
Discovery is HEROIC.
Dishonesty kills
Its victory.
Believe that you have accomplished something
On your own
Even if you were guided along the way.
Do not be amazed by my gaping stare.
I fall madly in love when I reflect.
Unique as you are, I’ll try to compare
So once more I write, please do not object.
What could be more contrived than a Spring’s day?
Perhaps a Summer rose or an Angel
Or even worse, I could regurgitate
What I’ve read by less apt poets as well.
By my goal is to win your heart, not turn
You away. So one significant rhyme
Is what I will need to make your loins burn,
Your cheeks swell, force the stars to realign.
Judge me not by these timeless metaphors.
Listen to my pen compose my heart’s score.
Where you gone
To your warm and sunny home
Long, far away
From your boy who’s all alone
Been dreaming
Wishing about the night when you return
So many days
Ten as I recall
Till I have you in my arms again
Did some witch cast a spell on this train car?
No
It’s just 10:42pm on a Tuesday night
The working class of New York City, Brooklyn
Are tired
They rest … or feign slumber
You know the liars and cheats
From the honest dreamers
By opening “Do Not Lean On Doors”
SLAM!
Their paranoid eyes flash open
While lights of confusion
“I was awake the whole time,
“But I was afraid
“And pretended that I was asleep.”
Go back to sleep
You who fear the black man,
The beggar,
The crazy drunkard,
The police,
The Einstein haired man who pens your soul
Period
When the music of the ipod stops,
What will you tap your feet to?
Do the sunglasses make you invisible?
Or are you sitting there
SIR,
Staring at that young girl’s tits,
Removing her bra
With your mind’s tongue,
And thrusting your wishing cock
Into her tight,
Tight…
Squeeze between the fat woman.
Isn’t it nice to have a seat?
Don’t your feet ache?
Of course they do.
You’ve been standing for ten minutes,
Waiting for the
Q
1
N
R
F
J
ACE train
And you’d like to recline.
Fuck the old lady
With her bags
And sixty some odd years.
She is not as important as
YOU!
But don’t forget
The fat woman
And pole
You’re crushed against.
They will not let you have your stop.
Stop.
Stop.
This is your stop.
Stop.
It was your stop
And this fat bitch
Wouldn’t let you have it,
But you’ll let her have it,
Won’t you?
In your head.
That’s where you ride the train
In New York City, Brooklyn.
In your head.
What’s in your ear
Is that young man’s music
Blaring from his phone.
Rap music.
Hip hop.
You weren’t allowed to listen to that music as a kid, were you?
Or you were.
You love it.
Or hate it.
There is no “or.”
It is definitive.
“I think rap is okay.”
Liar
No one has said that.
* If someone has, let it be noted that it has been said, but not to the owner of this hand who pens the thoughts of the passengers on this train car in New York City, Brooklyn.
The car shakes
To the beat of every ipod
On the car.
To the breath of every conversation.
To the tracks we take for granted
Underneath these steel caterpillars.
The sound of New York City, Brooklyn
Becoming
New York City, Manhattan
Is only differentiated
By the robot woman
Announcing the arrival
And Next stop.
No class.
No emotion.
No mind the gap.
No.
The robot woman will not stop
Unless there is a delay.
The robot woman is
Relentless
Reliable
Robotic
And yet we don’t acknowledge her.
*We don’t acknowledge the other cyborg passengers sitting, standing, speaking, shouting, silent, beside us.
We accept this future
And continue on this trip forward
Forward into the future
Until we reach
Our destination.
But when our time comes
We
Will
Get
Off.
What a thought.
We get off.
The others continue.
This is never the case with love.
Not for the man.
…Perhaps the woman.
Perhaps she got off and let me go on.
What would a man do
If he couldn’t finish?
If he was treated
Like a woman?
(Writer/Reader looks up from page/screen)
Writer/Reader: That’s another poem.
Here’s my stop.
The others go on.
They are the men.
I am the woman.
I have come.
Lucky me.
http://www.facebook.com/pages/Andrew-Greer/203092886428979
Two lovers in arms
Perspiring
Catching their breaths
It’s late and they’re exhausted
Euphoric
“May this night never end,” the think but do not say
As their eyes close
They whisper promises of love
Then fall into a slumber
May they dream of each other tonight
