The Express Train

A wind that rocks me back on my feet
Comes from the train that passes.

And as it slows I regain my balance
And I wait for the doors to open.

It’s been like that this City thus far,
Rushing and working and waiting.

I race out of the car propelling myself forward by the door’s edge.

I tend to run wherever I’m going.
As if someone is chasing me.

I rise from the Underground
Facing the Empire State Building,
But I don’t notice it today,
Today I keep my head down,
And my feet move quick against the traffic on wet pavement.

A cringe-worthy wind that makes others run for cover
Cuts around these buildings as I cut towards it.

And as it slows I’ve already turned the corner and pedestrian traffic slows.

Sparsely peppered with less shopper/tourists,
Rushing and working and waiting.

Weaving through and sashaying around, propelling myself by the wind’s edge.

I tend to slow when I get where I’m going.

I rose from the Underground
Facing the Empire State Building,
And I hear it underground again,
And I raise my head
My feet have reached the door, my hand has reached its handle.

The Train.

This City.

Rushing and working and waiting.

Quick against the traffic on wet pavement.

Weaving through and sashaying around, propelling myself by the wind’s edge.

I rise from the Underground,
But the Express Train
Rumbles on.