tonight it’s a black man and woman
making love
with their necks
and whispers
on the dirty railway car
yesterday it was a Chinese couple
tomorrow
maybe interracial
or homosexual
but always
the couple is standing
around a greasy, gray pole
the intimate metal shining
on the fingers, the humerus, the elbow
their fluorescent-lit eyes dance
with tongue and lips
cheek and bone
the elderly in the car appear
disgusted
annoyed
the innocent
blush
possibly loathe
I
envy
wondering if anything will break
their necks
entangled like swans
wondering if anything will silence
their quiet mating calls—
hush the vague Ss, Ts, and Ds
of their whispers like children telling secrets
Do they drink
before
climbing aboard?
maybe if I slipped
some whisky into Lover’s coffee…
but he is allergic
and doesn’t drink coffee anyway
he’d rather kiss
and say nothing
in our home
never feel the paste of dim boxcar lights
never feel the grip and pull
of flesh
as the train rolls
in
and
out
of destination
my stop comes
before the lovers know
the car has ceased again
I know they ride beneath
the city
for hours
never asking
time
location
never knowing the frustrations
of making love in clean, quiet bedroooms
© Julie Bolitho. “midnight on the subway,” Poems. Albatross. University of Chester Press: 2010, pg. 23.
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