The Young Poet in a Subway Car
Forever the young poet sat trapped in a subway car. Forever the man beside the young poet sneezed, and coughed, and wiped his nose with his sleeve, wiping his sleeve then on his pants across his thigh as he sat on the subway car.
For some time the young poet thought of the outside.
Birds floating in the summer and darting low across a misty sky in the fall. Clouds bumbling over buildings and water towers, rolling along like a jazz melody.
The subway car smelled like piss left in a carpet overnight in a room with no windows. Musky, damp and ever so slowly getting stronger. Or was the smell getting weaker? Either way it lasted forever.
The young poet pressed up against the metal door looking into the darkness, even darker than night. Forever the doors stayed closed. The yawns spread as others in the subway car contemplated forever.
If there were a tomorrow, the young poet thought, then I will spend the entire day looking at the sky, and I will see the ocean too! The air in the subway car had be there forever, and tomorrow is not any closer.