Tonight we wash the subway
off our feet and talk about dying
You’ve got four pennies in your pocket
and don’t know which one to leave
sitting on the window to keep out the cold.
There’s enough of us here
to keep from freezing. I’ll mark off the aluminum
with sliced pieces of tan tape
I want to make this brittle like stale
cheese, chunky peanut butter,
the sign cracking sharp
edges. You’ll offer the lady an apple.
Not that she can eat it. The old
woman asks for change, toothless.
She cries with the pennies.
I look at your forehead for lack of anything
better and nothing shows up. I was certain
there was a message scrolling in my general direction.
You’re not looking anyway.
The lines on your face have all but disappeared
and the hag is on the platform.
