J line

At Myrtle Avenue
the half-empty train 
weighs of project anger
while the half-full glass
reveals soaked faces
wandering aimlessly.
She shouts fiesta - fiesta
but nobody in the mood
to shake off the gloom
of their tired groins.
Saturday morning
too early for action
they'd rather miss 
- yet another train
it's not like catching it
- would change 
the color of their skin.

At Gates Avenue
two lamps hang over
 - sheepishly
as he draws endless graffiti
then joins the ride 
- feet apart
 transported by loud music
pretending to carry the weight
- of the majority's liability.
So let the rhythm carry
 - the social grief
Let the graffiti blind 
- those who look away.

Frescos at Chauncey street
mock - believers
blind - nonbelievers.
They saw her brittle hands
struggling to push away 
his heavily breathing belly.
At Broadway Junction 
he'll jump off and disappear
NYPD will turn over her arms
a disposed needle 
- on the ground
will reaffirm suspiciouns
her fault - of course.

At Cleveland Street platform
the little boy is not angry
 - NO.
He just stopped being a child
while everyone was 
- too busy chasing
that same American Dream
that failed him.

© Jeta B Photography

And so angry legs continue to
walk in - walk out
too early for death threats
- or sex talk
on the phone - or off it
- but the rain has stopped
and a rainbow has popped.

Tourists jump off at JFK
high on holiday bargains
dangling 'I ♥ NY' trinkets
New Yorkers continue
to ride the J Line
 - in anger
day in - day out.

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