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By Ray Abruzzi


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



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.


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