Come Through

Two girls, pampered, in the corner,
on top of one another, by accident?
I move through the metro---
Apart from the debutantes, discomfort starts to sink in as I stand--- move to a corner.
Open sesame, I think.
A stick. The play in order.
Destination: Downtown Crossing.
As I move to get off the train, the girls come in my way, and one says "Excuse me!"
I notice her dress, olives and pears,
and her hair smells like seafood.
Blessed, as I comb up against her. Open sesame, I think.
Not her legs, but her personality.
We make our way through the station, to the street,
and one of the girls is lighting up a lengthy one-hundred cigarette, as if she had been on the train for hours.
The grandfather clock is grand.
I disappear with the moon by my side,
a tote bag in the wind.
And they don't remember my face.
Never have they remembered my face.


J Michael Wahlgren edits for Gold Wake Press. He is author of Silent Actor (Bewrite, 2008), Chariots of Flame & Pre-elixir (Maverick Duck Press).