For an Obnoxious Man, From His Polite Wife, On Going Home on the Subway

Testy now in the gloom of the station,
3:15 am and no sign of electric light
rolling salvation

only thoughts of what’s waiting

patient

and living.

This labyrinth then,
the stairs and yellowed stains in the stench

are gone

and time seems less a weight
than some last minute invitation to lay aside the day

and anticipate the subway seats;
orange and yellow and tangerine.

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