F Train

carroll street

6 minutes until the next train

the backpack slides off my shoulders

zipper opens and out comes my medium sized spiral bound sidekick

pen pulled from the small pouch

as a few people potter on the platform, warmups

i slither towards the rear of the station and coil behind a pillar

a man is leaning against the wall, neck craned, face to phone

the forked pen snakes his silhouette

head, shoulders, coat... small of the back curving in -

people walking by breaking sight line...

hip box

cold air floods the station, the page waves at the passing g train

no way he’s getting on that train

legs, feet...

doors open

platformers break line of sight-

eyes, small nose - bag and back are dark - is there enough time?

scribbles transform into incoherent hatching

cold air again, has the g train already left?

the f train thunders into the station

the hand flashes, ink flies

doors open

tucked into the crook between bars and

door i scan the packed car

eyes center on a woman sitting

her face wears the weight of the morning,

head already drawn, hairline incoming

eyes sink into sockets, caverns on her face

dark marks

chin anchored to chest, coat pulling her into-

doors open

an elbow lands on hand

line broken

scene shifts

she’s gone

to the right, a sharp and crooked nose

a glorious silhouette

pen climbs its peaks

suddenly the tip dips

phone cradles his face

in warm, promise filled light

scarf saddles the nape of his neck

eyebrows wrap, nostrils reach, chin hidden

doors open

she leans against the pole

left hip lower

pants flare

eyes dance across the textures

on her bag, a labyrinth

of pockets, meshes

planes projecting into space

her fingers flames

doors open

the ink shimmers as the page

laps it up

friction, texture, scratching

doors open

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