Riding the M Train

The sky was dark as I walked through the gum-filled streets and

The twilight was silent even when the strangers walked past me.

The navy sky, unaware and unaccommodating of the chirping birds waiting at the heels of the

rising sun

The sky was oblivious to the tumbling napkins, just as the people were.

The people weren’t keen on the copious garbage that plagued the streets; The litter that polluted

the earth,

They were too busy with their commute, with their schedule, with their lives to pay the

litter any mind.

The strangers understood the impact of the trash on the animals of the earth, on the

state of the earth; but their lives demanded full attention,

attention without superfluous distraction.

Busy with juggling their to-go cup of coffee, some

Busy cleaning their foggy glasses in the mist of the morning, others

Busy tying their shoe, the only time they’ll go to the ground, close to the litter, and most

Busy walking, rather running, to catch their next train.

I rushed up the stairs of the M train station, stomping on the gum,

and the strangers rushed right beside me, everyone with places to be, and goals to meet.

I swiped my metro card, ran up the next set of stairs, slid through the train’s closing doors, and

I took a seat on the cold gray-blue plastic bench.

it wasn’t until then that

I looked at those around me.

I saw the woman that always accompanied me on the 6:37 M train,

dressed in her lavish, and plush, cheetah-print coat, fidgeting in her seat,

trying to find the most comfortable way to put her hood on, her head down, and

sleep, as,

I noticed, she always did.

I looked at the other end of the cart and found a man standing, swaying and

I stared at his bright, fluorescent, fuchsia shirt draped unfittingly on his slender upper body, as

I found my eyes drifting to his wrist, around it wrapped a hospital band and yellow flowers in his

other hand.

He walked toward the end of my cart, with each step came a sway, to the left and to the right,

letting his beanie flop as

He walked, and as he walked he paused frequently, with every pause

He dropped his flowers.

And he would pick them up, and people would stare at him as he walked, but never long enough

for him to see their prying eyes,

And the woman with the cheetah print coat,

the woman who always slept, she was now wide awake,

And she too stole quick glances at the man, with his beaten down sweater, who constantly

dropped his flowers and picked them right back up, longing for someone to notice him,

for someone to look at him and his implied struggles in the context of the social

ladder, and with his state of mind.

He kept walking, swaying, through the train, back and forth, while

He continued to drop his drooping flowers at each person’s foot,

He never said a word, until-

He reached into his pocket and took out a purple lighter,

He stopped, with his hand dangling over the upper metal bar as

He planted his feet onto the floor of the train while swaying back and forth over the people

sitting, and then,

He raised the lighter.

The man spun around with the lighter in his hand, yearning to make eye contact with

The others on the train as they struggled to find the right time to look at the man without him

seeing their fear-stricken eyes.

The man asked,

The members of the train if they would look at him now,

If they would pay him any mind now,

If they would take a break from their own interests to acknowledge his presence now, or

If they would care about him now, now that their own presumed safety was at risk.

With their eyes glued on the floor, on their phones, on their books, on their homework, their eyes With the attention on anyone or anything other than the man with the flowers, who was seeking

compassion, seeking recognition, the strangers were much too associated

With their illusion of necessary safety around the man, who had left the hospital

With a medical bracelet on one hand and flowers and a flame in the other.

I reached my stop and left the train.

I saw someone running to catch the M train I had just exited, and

I saw another person juggling luggage and bookbags down the stairs as

I walked up them, skipping every other step, and when I walked out of the station I saw,

Two pigeons walking on the gum-stricken New York City street, one of them speeding up and

walking ahead of the other, the second of the

Two, struggling

To pick up the scraps of food on the floor, and as a result, falling behind the other, all due

To what looked

like a limp, it seemed as though the pigeon had injured itself, while the first who had the

agility and strength and the overall means

To pick up the most crumbs had neglected the needs of the second of the

Two pigeons, who could not provide for itself,

who needed help and cognizance from the other.

Other birds, passing by, witnessed the second pigeon’s predicament, but they couldn’t break

away from their busy crumb collecting regimens to help the struggling bird.

No one helped the pigeon, just as

No one had helped the man with the flowers.

Both were ignored by the society of

Their own worlds,

Their needs were neglected by those around them,

those who were much too invested in

Their own preservation,

Their own advancement,

Their own lives.