Stopping Short - April 20 2024

 

Stopping Short

April 20 2024

We’re still in the dark

as the subway slows to a stop

in the busy underground station.

The last car

left in the tunnel

when the train stopped short.

Weary commuters

pour out,

while those on the platform

press ahead

or are pushed,

and wedged together

edge through the doors,

coming out the other side

like warm soda through a bottleneck,

fizzing out

in all directions.

Where they narrow their eyes,

searching for seats

then dashing off to claim them,

before dropping down

with an audible sigh.

The electric motors pulse

on hold,

as if constrained

and keen to make a break.

Until a chime sounds,

doors whoosh shut,

and the idling train

jerks into motion.

But I missed my stop.

The forgotten car

left in the dark;

me

and this company strangers

stuck in our seats.

This is how it feels

to be helpless and unheard.

But how life works

most of the time

for most people on earth.

And how it feels

to let go.

To be taken for a ride

and cede control.

To be made so late

time doesn't matter any more.

When all I can do

is lean back in my seat

and rest my head.

Let my eyes drift shut,

lulled

by the clickety-clack

of subway track

heading who-knows-how-fast

who knows where.

Watch the tunnel racing by

a few inches from the window

in the eerie half-light;

as if we were still

and the world in motion.