Every mission in a day,
It’s what it’s like. Everyone has their own.
The woman dashing for a seat on the E train;
The woman with a red nose and open mouth cradling her baby to her chest;
The Jewish man that doesn’t trade his seat for anyone.
Black man: step away…
The Sikh target for 6am eyes, eyes now awake at the sight of the cloth.
God could not have built this steel city,
Iron, and welding, and wood behind walls,
No one even knows how it all comes together;
Sit it an office and point, and click.
The man suspended, giving even bit of mitochondria
And sugar, the shake of a deltoid
Washing a pane of glass.
I think of Crane, the looming steel skeletons,
And what board rooms of wood suits and ties, anatomists
Decided to put them together.
This train I’m on. It’s not free. And you can smell it
Passing the man with his hand out.
The train could blow any second of any day.
A bullet could travel through cranial fragments,
And I, seal-like on the sidewalk.
I’ll take the bus.
A bus explodes in Queens, 24 dead.
I can’t stay home.