Eyes averted to adverts of mobile phones,
soon-to-be-released features,
gimmicky radio stations,
new herbal enhancers,
pretending  to be interested.

No one talks.
Empty seats separate dull minds,
desperate not to associate,
not to disrupt the ride.
Danielle Steel novels opened,
library copies creased with overuse,
eyes scan over their tops
to survey potential threats,
handbags mark seats as taken.

A child wails.
Preppy schoolgirls coo
at tiny dogs on leashes.
Hollow beats from iPods
unleashed from various sources.
I soak it in.

Each individual,
personalities hidden
by frozen countenances,
has a destination.
All different,
although equal in fare,
sharing a fraction of time
before distancing ourselves aboveground.
But for that brief moment,
we are one:
anxious, uncomfortable and silent,
a beautiful conglomeration
in a time of practicality.
Friday: Two O'Clock Subway
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