2 train 96th Street to Clark Street, November 12, 2013
“…every time I ride the subway I ask a stranger to write a poem.” I made the pitch to the woman sitting in front of me. “But I’m not a stranger. I’m Eddie’s wife.” Oops. I broke the rules and asked her to write. That was a while ago. Now I consider the rules in flux.
Cold setting in
Early this year.
With leaves still on
The trees,
The wind whips the fallen
like a harbinger of
snow drifts to come.
And I dig my numb,
white fingers,
Deeper, deepest, into
my hapless pockets.