Trapped In The Margins

There’s nothing quite like it.

The screeches from the New York City subway.

The grinding intensifies then lulls.

An endless sea of commuters, stone faced.

Stoicism has nothing on them.

I, too, have joined the commuting masses

Feeling at home and like a stranger at the same time.

Commuting is in my blood.

I grew up on these trains.

The Redbirds ever musty and screeching.

Taking that one corner in the Bronx too closely for comfort.

And yet, decades have passed since I was part of these masses.

But the hustle never touched me then.

It gripped my mother by her freshly laundered collar

Dragging her from the city to the Bronx.

I was just a bystander, caught in the wave of people.

Forced to move too quickly before I had a chance to understand.

Now, I have returned a fully formed being trapped in my own sea.

Commuting to a job that could easily be done from home.

But for the sake of community, I must trudge on.