The currents of fear
jump up from the third rail and into the people
who glisten with sweat
and worry while glancing
each at another
sitting or standing
swaying or walking
caking their nostrils
with dirt and with ozone
riding to work at
a work with no meaning
jerking and bumping and hoping
to get there
thinking of muggings
and fights in the subways.
Wheels squeaking madly--we
slip through those waiting
who push through the doors
to fear while they travel,
but we shove through the crowds
and up to the streets where
we walk through the shovers to tremble anew
at street-level pushers and cops
with their hate-stares.
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