It’s a long rocky ride
From the far north side
To one hundred and third and Oak Park.
Where the rumble of rails
And intercom squeals
Make handwriting an illegible chore.
Between dust and dead skin
Hot ammonia grasps metal
Its stench hiding remnants of piss.
I’m probably better not knowing
What disease keeps rubbing
On my palms when I cling to the rail.
When the subway arrives,
It’s no big surprise that
All hands shuffle in pockets for iPods.
But a bum screams enough
Into a red thermos cup
That passengers remark, all appalled.
With Lady Soverign blaring
Two kids keep on nagging
When we’re all better not knowing why.
With no cars or concrete
Passing the window at speed
Daddy next door is having some trouble.
“If the tram is a square
Why are those walls curved?”
He remarks like an unsung superhero.
The kids sit stumped.
My legs lie crossed, ‘till
Joints graze with a deaf one seat over.
Speaking without saying,
Am I better for not knowing
The exciting topic his torso flails for?
Rising up from the depths
Gray sky plasters wet
Splashes on tin topped pagoda roofs.
As a single girl out
To conquer the heart
Of Chicago, I don’t mind heading downtown.
For the thrill of the ride
I’ll document this stride
Until I roll into bed back at home.
