I See You Fat Man

I would guess

it was your first time

on a rush hour train

you took up two seats

with your bags and girth

and compulsively chatted

with anyone

who glanced across your sightline.

Perhaps it was nerves or excitement

which made you so garrulous

I would guess

with your handlebar mustache,

sweatpants, and socks-with-sandals

you are a visitor in our city.

I'm glad that guy

gave you an RX bar

a small generosity

to welcome you to the Chi.

Cough Drop Lady

First off
I'm sorry
for coughing so much
in our crowded train
not the best way
to start the work day
for either of us

Secondly
thank you
for the cough drop
all the other commuters
ignored my mild suffering
and you helped
for which I'm grateful.

Rancid

There is little
closer to purgatory
than the crowded
stuttering
stuffy train
during the evening
rush hour
but I discovered
there are degrees
of suffering.

The woman
appeared
relatively normal
twenty-something
Nordstrom's parka
innocuous
but she lugged with her
a neon teal and pink gym bag
which carried with it
a fetid stink.

The stench
filled the car
with such cringing force
you could not help
but ponder
it's deriving source
unwashed cloths perhaps
left fallow for years
or possibly
days old vomit
left to congeal and rot.

Dante did not
reconstruct
this particular misery
in his Divine Comedy
but I have to think
this banal woman
and her noxious sack
have some special place
for inflicting punishments
in the fiery hereafter.

In A Hurry

Like little mice
my fellow commuters
scurry up the stairs
intent only
on the time
perpetually
running late
attempting to outrun
the inevitable clock
little cogs
in the machine of industry
sheep
in the flock of finance
not to say
I'm not a fellow lemming
but
I never hurry to the train
nor rush to board
or shark for a seat
if I'm early or late
I don't let it effect
my steady pace

Street Talk 23

On a crowded rush hour brownline train. Fullterton stop. A man is playing some middling electronic/pop/R&B loudly on a portable stereo. I suspect the music is self produced.

Woman: Put your headphones in.
Man: What?
Woman: Come on. Listen on your headphones.
Man: Who do you think you are. Shut your mouth bitch.
Woman: Just put your headphones in. No one wants to hear that.
Man: No one else is saying anything. Whats your fucking problem. Mind your own fucking business. Your lucky I don't hit women. But I know people. I could get people to take care of you.
Woman#2: Give it a rest. Turn that crap off.
Man: So disrespectful! Why you being so disrespectful to me! Keep yourself to yourself and leave me alone.
Woman#2: Disrespectful!?! You're the one that's being disrespectful to everyone on this train. And making threats-
Man: I didn't make any threats.
Woman: Yes. You threatened me.
Man: No. I said...I said I don't hit women...but I know ladies who do.
Woman: Your being rude.
Man: I'm being me and you're going to have to deal with it. You can't tell me what to do. I'm going to do what I'm going to do and you can't stop me.

The man turns up his music and the train is silent other than the refrain of the pulsing chorus "fuck love" repeating over and over again.

Four stops later at Southport the man is about to exit.

Man: What's your name?
Woman: Mary.

The man exits the train. Both women who have spoken to him clap and cheer. They are joined by a smattering of other commuters. Mostly though everyone has politely ignored the whole interaction.

To Break

I often wonder when
a man first smashed his fist
into another man's face
breaking teeth and bone
when I'm sweating and cramped
on a crowded train
and a pretentious suit
barks his entitlement
jabs his elbows
and petulantly glowers.

I think of that first punch
that must have been thrown
millennia ago
as I clench my mitt
prepping my pivot
to maximize the blow
and bring justice
with a shattered jaw-
how simpler things were
on those dry and barren plains.

I-90

There's a stretch of I-90 I've worn well with rubber. From Rockford to Chicago, Chicago to Rockford, back and forth. For a while I had all the exits memorized, knew the NPR schedule by heart both WNIJ(Rockford) and WBEZ(Chicago). I've driven, motorcycled, gotten rides, and ridden the Coach USA bus.

It has been an obstacle, a bridge for contemplation, an irritant, a safety blanket, a danger, and a bore. I've seen all manners of construction, traffic, and improvements. For a time my world encompassed only two cities and a stretch of road.

With friends moving and the Chicago comedy scene in a state of flux I have cause to reflect. My world is much larger now with innumerable possibilities. There are countless roads stretching out to the horizon. Each with opportunity and mystery and promise.

Chip Haiku

A lone bag of crisps

discarded on the bare tracks

rain clouds looming, dark

Attrition

another commute
another delay
misery reaps
a fine bouquet

emotions crack
in brittle cold
fatigue exhumes
what once was bold