Subte Line C: A Poem

Subte_line_c

This is a poem about when life comes zooming brakeless into and through your life, and you don’t collide, yet you’re touched and left scuffed – Alex Nichols.

Subte Line C

The yellow C-line metro thundered into San Martin station,
Buenos Aires.
Through the window,
I spotted a gone girl dancing in mad ecstasy
and
entered her car.

She had purple-pink hair,
Asian-face, a nose ring,
her eternal pupils wide open,
blue headphones,
hot pants grabbing her
tiny ass.

She moved from side to side,
swaying, rocking, swinging,
pumping her fist,
like no one else was
there.

Us mortals looked down.
Some peeked through their sunglasses,
coyly.
Kids laughed and giggled.
Moms scolded her with looks.

Then, she left.
I watched her shuffling down the platform,
pumping her fist,
taking all life with her and
leaving me with

Zombies.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>