sometimes on the train_-----_

2/3 Train, 96th street to Clark Street
She pulled out the New Yorker. That stops things dead. Then she put it away. She didn’t say no, or I don’t know how to. She said, “Are you going to feed me a subject?” I explained what people write about. She asked if she could read a couple of poems. Then she said, “I can write it, but I can’t promise it will be a poem.”
I’ve often wondered why the last line of many poems is the most awkward one. I felt that way about the line she wrote down. It was something like: …until I am home. When I finished reading it she said,
I had a different last line.
What was it?
…until I can pee
That’s better
Can I say that?
That encounter helped me to understand what happens. By the last line, doubt creeps in. There’s an instinct to play it safe. Wrap things up. That consciousness zaps the line of freshness. It comes out more pat and preconceived.
I asked her why she had put down the New Yorker.
Technology issue. No interest.

Sometimes on the train
I count the earphones + ipods
To see how many people are
Somewhere else

Sometimes on the train
I imagine
switching destinations:
I will go to your office, answer
Your emails, cook your kids’ dinner
You do mine

Sometimes on the train
I doze off

I am just counting how many stops
Until I can pee

Read a poem by Joshua S.

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2 Responses to Sometimes on the Train: Lisa C.

  1. n45s says:

    sometimes you have to get off at the stop before

  2. donald says:

    sometimes you have to get off at the stop before yours

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