A Midnight in August

It was sometime after that 40 in the park

On the 1:59,
Last train out the East Harlem line

A girl in a blue dress
Her chest sagging out,
Knelt down
Between the cars
Heaving the night,
Blocking all those Westchester club-drunks from passing.

In front of me
Some guy
Kept lobbing fries out of his hysterical girlfriend’s hands.

She clucked and tweaked like a headless Cochin,
Then stood up
Hobbled to the end of the car—Off her back.

Sometime after we broke down at Fordham, when the drone from the drunks
Stopped
And the car slept.
I thought about how we met The Prophet in Astoria,
And how he told us about the Great Depletion—
Fuck, man—no potential here.

But then
There’s You
Me
That girl from Mexico
That girl with the Smell
That girl who smiled when I almost fell out the N

And West—

You’re right,
“I don’t feel so alone, Ma.”