C Train from Chelsea to Harlem

I'm sitting next to my wife with
her bright colored glove on my thigh
and watching

A man in a tailored overcoat,
platinum ring on his hand,
smooth leather briefcase between his legs

A lady sitting
with red, dyed, thin hair and a heavily wrinkled face looking under
her brow and over her thick glasses,
eyes darting back and forth

A pear shaped girl with dark skin huddling behind the collar of her coat,
the hem rises over her hips and she pulls it down,
again and again

A couple snuggling, kissing, giggling --
she has dark long hair and legs and freckles,
he has eyes and hands full of her

A man with chapped, cracked hands holding a trash cart
that's rolling, spilling stench --
he has grey in his beard,
gunk in his hair,
no earphones,
and rhythm in his feet as he cripwalks to no

music but the squeal of the brakes,
hush of the doors,
sway of the car