poem of the day 10.12.09

man at the top of the stairs

there is a man at the top of the subway stairs
who had just stopped.
he’s clutching his chest and standing there.
he’s a beat up old thing with a white beard
and a dirty baseball cap.
and he’s standing there at the top
of the subway stairs
not moving, swaying a little bit
as we rush by in the after work fervor
checking blackberries and text messages
to catch trains or make meals
to pick up demanding children
or huddle over that first drink.
there is a man at the top of the subway stairs
and no one stops to see if he’s all right.
not you or i my friend.
no one stops to look back.
i know i didn’t.
i had to catch the d train
so that i could meet a connecting r
at 36th street,
so that i could walk six blocks in the rain.
i had to get home to baked chicken
for the second time this week
and boxed macaroni and cheese.
i had to get home from work
as fast as i could to flee that world.
i know i didn’t have the time
to stop and check up
on some haggard old beast standing
at the top of the stairs
clutching his chest
and blocking stairway traffic,
making a scene in the rush hour
calamity of flesh and bone.
i mean his face wasn’t even red.
he looked all right from what i saw
probably just old and tired, like the rest of us.
there is a man at the top of the subway stairs
who has just stopped.
he’s clutching his chest and standing there.
and all i can think is good luck, buddy,
finding empathy or a helping hand
in this sinking world.