Subway Stop Memories

I’ve been feeling so old lately

and in a sense, I always do

I can feel the wrinkle before it is formed

I can feel the gray whenever I can see it in the sky

and I wear the eleven o’clock news under my eyes

deep as the ocean, the color of bruises

blue and purple like the crook of the arm of the junkie sitting next to me

on the subway car

where wall street and the back street pay the same fair

to share the same air

and on occasion they even touch

rubbing shoulders and causing more friction

making the rich feel dirty

and the dirty feel used

I look down at all their feet

and I try to imagine the broken soled shoe on the man wearing the suit

and wonder if wearing it would give the papers he pushes some sympathy

I have a collection of pictures of strangers feet

the stiletto's, construction boots, high class shoes and nothing but dirty socks

because the subway, is the only small space where the classes are all in one place

and I look out the window into the intestines of the city I hold so dear

graffitied with the gospel of survival in a language I can barely read

but I connivence myself I understand

where the rats are digesting the garbage the we spit out

as i empty my pocket into a worn paper cup of a homeless man

and take out my pen and notebook and write nostalgia

about a place I once called home

where I used to play in the yard

with the broken fence because of that time playing ball,

and where my bike was stolen and returned,

the tree that was always in bloom just in time for my birthday

the couch where I had my awkward first kiss

to a boy who once watched his father, eased into the back of a police car

he loved me because I never poked fun if he cried

our break up was a surprise, even to me

and I was the one who decided it

some things just happen

my mouth said what I wanted before the rest of me realized it

which is why my past relationships are all resting peacefully

why I often times wanted to feel more than I was ever feeling

because my insides were squealing just like the subway car racing down the track

tripping me over the feet of strangers

on my way back from once again saying goodbye to you, lover

just a little too soon

and against better judgement

that’s when it hurts the most

the sky is burning up

in the colors of your love

and maybe that’s just the sunset

but the horizon looks like your eyes just as

I put you on the bus lover,

right after you held me the way I hold my words

tight and close, warming me slowly

learning me all over again,

memorizing our eternity