Public Transportation

I had to write a poem as a final project for my art class. It encompasses some of what I post on here so I thought it would be fit to post it.

Staring out of minivan windows overlooking my old exits

The air conditioner blasting into my dry eyes from the front vent

I was turning fifteen as the train reached Harlem.

I bought a new perfume, stumbling from Gramercy Park

To the Upper West Side, joining a line of girls with hearts on their cheeks.

I was going to miss the last train out of Manhattan that night

But we ran and caught it and went back to where we were supposed to be

Overlooking my old exits, the air conditioner turned off

And my thin black sweater wrapped around my shoulders

When the yellow lights in my small town started blinking.

 

Staring out of bus windows overlooking the suspension bridges

The nicked glass melting in the winter sun

Tea tree oil, coconut and cocoa butter lotion

Prepaid Metro-North ticket in my right hand

A winter jacket, scarf, and jar of water in the other.

I was going to miss the last train out of his town that night

But I ran and caught it and went back to where I was supposed to be

Overlooking the suspension bridges, nicked glass

Reminding me of the wall that separated me and the Fox news

Channel watching and car crashing.

 

Staring out onto 16th Street and Corcoran, Gregorian chant

Wakes me up, my Airbnb man opened the windows last night

Sweat and mascara and pear vodka in my toothpaste

I think he smokes, but only the bathroom smells like cigarettes.

Flight itinerary printed out in the library in my laptop case,

Clothes strewn all over the bed and risks permeating my emptying wallet.

I was going to miss my flight out of Dulles early next morning

But I rolled out of bed and threw on a sweatshirt and the uber came

And I could breathe, and I was going back to where I was supposed to be.

When I hung up my new map and circled in the street corner,

It didn’t feel that way at all.

 

Everything was fine when the piano kicked in,

When I missed the last bus out of St. Paul Street

I wasn’t cold, there was no Grand Central to welcome me in,

No big yellow school bus waiting to take me back to my skyline.

Everything was fine when the piano kicked in

And I will continue to hope it will be because

It didn’t feel that way at all.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s