Jun 21 2008
Times Square Next
I was discussing mortality with a friend and described how for me it was like walking
through a subway car in New York without being distracted as to your stop.
“Times Square Next”
The old man dressed in tatters walks
The subway car with purpose,
Pausing for support between lurches.
He sings softly Celtic ballads;
A scuffed violin he carries
To synchronize his spirit.
Confounded commuters look up,
Furtively at first from news print past,
Confronting presence in his blaze smile.
No beggar he – an intent seeker,
Oblivious to how long he yet must travel,
He seeks to stir those who linger – sleep.
Some ask – what is his purpose, his stop?
He’s a footfall in a flood of light;
Then absent – in exit, in transfer, who knows.
Most remaining sit unaware – unconscious really,
His song and music linger high above drone slumber.
Then brakes begin to squeal – what stop is next?
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