I.
On the trains that roll above the city
There is an unspoken, unwritten law:
You are responsible for yourself alone.
To be aware of another is the most mortal of sins.
Each passenger embodies this law
In some form or another.
Some wrap themselves in music –
Earphones blazing,
Creating a cocoon of noise around them;
Some have cell phones
Permanently affixed
To hands and ears.
Most common, though, is the Thousand-Yard Stare,
Each passenger picking some patch of window
Between the heads of others;
Gazes fixed, watching the crumbing concrete of the city rush by.
On a busy morning, there is a shortage of this real estate.
One hardly knows where to look.
You need to stake your turf out early.
Don’t take your eye from it, even for a moment.
One day, wars will break out over what little space remains.
II.
A few wise, brave, mad souls are awake to the potential devastation.
They break the law
And make a spectacle of themselves
Forcing their presence into the consciousness of the train car
(In the quiet of the passengers’ standoff, this does not take much effort).
It is difficult to say if this is an act of mere
Civil disobedience
Or some sort of selfless sacrifice
Designed to distract potential combatants
Away from their disputes.
Either way, it is an effort doomed to failure.
It is rare that passengers back down,
But noble efforts abound.
III.
One potential martyr
Makes his way from car to car
Singing to the souls within.
From his large frame comes
A sound even larger,
A relentless Jamaican/Hip-Hop sound
A boot-stomping sound
It demands attention
It begs that its presence be
Acknowledged.
The more the beat demands, however,
The more the passengers fix their stares
The harder they watch concrete.
We will not be bullied into
Compromising
The demands of the Law.
IV.
Another day
Another singer
This one much less boisterous.
He does not stand
Or stomp
Or demand.
He sits and asks politely for attention
Before he proceeds.
He understands the silence that meets his request
To be consent.
He sings.
“Dock of the Bay” floats through the car.
Soulful and plaintive,
The ghost of Otis fills the empty spaces.
Where demand has failed
Soul has won out.
The man who sits in front of me
Is forced out of his shell by the sound.
He is angry at being dragged away.
He yells at the singer,
Tells him to shut up.
Shut up. Stop it, man.
Cut that out!!
Our singer cuts short
And begs forgiveness for the
Disturbance.
He only wanted, he professes, to sing for us.
V.
Most days I am much like the others
I have chosen my real estate and fixed
My thousand-yard stare.
I am easily tempted to stray
To give up my piece of window
But fear of reprisal for breaking
The Law of the Train
Keeps my eyes glued in place.
But, this morning
The train car is a different place.
The couple across the aisle is deaf.
They are in mid-conversation when I board.
Their faces are expressive,
Their sentences punctuated
With snickers and sneers and snorts.
The man signs vigorously
His hands move fiercely,
Slapping against each other.
The sound demands attention,
More so than any song.
The sound gets the attention it demands.
But once the couple itself is in the field of vision
Their faces overshadow the sound.
Their faces break the Law.
They look into each other’s faces.
Their communication depends upon the
Contact.
They look into each other’s faces!
The Law of the train car
So flagrantly broken
And the world remains intact –
Does not fall off its axis.
Once the Law is broken
Once one face is noticed
The entire train enters into
Presence.
VI.
The woman behind me
Has not yet awakened
To the reprieve from the Law.
She talks to her friend
On the cell phone that has been
Permanently attached to her ear since we boarded.
She and her conversation are present
Despite her lack of awareness.
The bubble she thinks her phone gives her
Is gone.
Her conversation enters consciousness.
It is intimate,
Too intimate.
Her poise and her beauty belie the life
She seems to have been dealt.
Single Mother.
Violent Love.
In a few minutes all who can hear
Know more than they should.
Her voice blends with the sounds and sights
Of the deaf couple and their conversation,
The joy and the pain intermingling.
The polar ends of the human condition laid bare
Somewhere between the south side and the loop.
VII.
A young man in a corporate-issued polo shirt
On his way to work
Or perhaps his way back
Sits across from me.
He has entered into this state of Presence
At the same time as I have.
There is discomfort in this state
We both feel it
And we both notice each other
Feeling awkward,
Embarrassed at being caught
Eavesdropping on the world.
Our eyes meet briefly.
He rolls his as if to say,
Can you believe what’s happened here?
I roll mine,
How did we end up in this mess?
A knowing grin.
Then he returns to his real estate
A spot on the window just above my head.
VIII.
The shared moment is brief,
And yet, after he turns away
I’m left wondering what his life is like.
I imagine the mundanities.
To work and back
Home to a small apartment
Or perhaps to a room with mom and dad
Kept much as it was since his childhood.
Do they have a meal together?
Is he studying for something?
Does he settle down alone
In front of the television?
Or does he wait for a lover to arrive?
Is he a father, too?
IX.
The train stops, and I am brought back to
Here and Now.
The door opens, and I step onto the platform
Carrying the presence of the others with me,
My errand briefly forgotten.
I don’t want them to go.
I want to be back in the car,
Alive in there with them.
But the train pulls away
And I am left longing
And wondering
And I am certain
If I could get back in that car
Return to that moment
Return to the Presence of others
Know and be Known
If I could get back in that car
I could begin to unlock
The secrets of the universe.
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this is wonderful. i feel like i’m on that train. and it brings back all the boston T rides from times past. when are you going to publish?? send it to the new yorker.