poem of the day 07.31.09

sardines

that man
with his bag sticking me
in the back
the woman to my right
smelling of garlic
her mouth a mess of
low fat cream cheese
her little son
kicking at my shins
and the woman
in the seat in front of me
who keeps stepping
on my infected toe
while reading a paperback
romance
and listening to something
god awful out of her ipod
there aren’t even scantily clad
teenage girls
to ogle on this train
just a woman with sweaty armpits
smashed into some mexican laborers face
and an old hag clutching
her bag
made to stand
while the young and still-employed read
folded copies of the wall street journal
as the air conditioning keeps
kicking off and on
and the smell of coffee permeates
some are going to work
some are in remedial classes
some are just passing the time
with a dose of humanity
in the morning
and some of us
me
are just standing there quietly
while someone’s umbrella handle
jabs off and on,
like a dagger to the nuts,
waiting on the next great plague
to strike.