Twisting
And turning
And man-spreading.
Women
With bags
And crossed ankles
And a dozen rings.
Lights flickering
And scooters
And stained fabric
From the hundred asses
That came before yours.
Stale air
Punctuated
With too much cologne
On businessmen
Wearing dead animals
On their feet.
Raucous laughter of youth
Disturbing quiet patrons,
Sweaty and tired.
Designer handbags
And hair all a mess.
Too much make-up
And too-tight dresses
And old men
Who can’t avert their eyes.
Accents
And languages
And pockmarked faces
Awash in florescent lighting
And the stares of strangers
With nothing better to look at.
In the darkness
Of the tunnels
It could be any hour.
The LCD glow
Of phone screens
Illuminate faces
When the lights
Unexpectedly dim.
But even still,
We’re surrounded by absence.
