SUBWAY POETRYTUBES
a watched pot never boils
but not so in the NYC subways
i see the determined faces
bodies leaning out over the tracks
staring down the tube
watching expectantly for the first glimpse
of light
the first subtle change in the tunnel,
betraying a train
they feel it on the benches as they wait
those secret vibrations,
that dull movement within the structure
giving away the train
boiling day and night
SWINE LINES
I see them each morning with their droopy, dull
expressions & dim eyes that convey a lumbering selfishness in spite
of the lack of activity behind them. 
The look of forced consciousness (like someone newly awakened from a deep sleep which they were loath to leave) is temporarily replaced by something less human, more savage as the train comes into the station and they push and jostle each other on the platform like cattle, like swine to slop.
When I see the idiot smile of satiated greed on some pig that managed to beat another pig to the last subway seat, it sickens me.
Even worse are the half-lidded, half-asleep faces of the ignorant, as they doze between stations, giving little starts into wakefulness when they tilt sideways from the staggering and lurching of the train. Like pigs, prodded with brands, on the way to the chop block.