You missed the train, you dumb slut,

because you had to check the mirror

again. Next one to South Ferry in 11 mins. 

Aren’t we supposed to be civilized?

Don’t blame the city. Vanity

chewed your morning up. And would you

look again? 

Watch her squint at the mosaic, 

desperate for reflection, 

to impress no one in particular. Charming—

or, rather, charmed—she waits in spite

of the tired men in crisp suits, who stand

still and bent as horses at night. 

We populate the platform

as ghosts drawn to a susceptible mind,

bobbing in the welter between wet and waterless heat,

troublesome until the train

takes us elsewhere to squint, stand, wait.