Initiation

 

Perhaps – he started on the wrong train,

boarded a – foreign – platform

amidst the workday rush

and, in the grips of – panic,

realized every direction

was – X.

 

There has to be a first slip,

some shift to shiftlessness:

losing housing –

becoming – homeless – in the city.

 

His suit had elbow patches,

pants with worn but – unbroken – knees,

shirt – stained – from re-learning

how to gather food.

 

On an overcrowded F train,

running somewhere –

between Manhattan and apathy –

he blatantly blasted

the raunchiest rotten egg fart

to watch the nostrils

of everyriderbesidehim,

across the aisle from –         him,

and, eventually,

every

rider

down

to

the

last

person

at

the

opposite

end

of

the

car

from him

as they flared

with realization.

 

Madison Avenue and Wall Street indifference,

alongside Broadway visitors’ anxiety,

couldn’t help but look away,

horses bucking at the scent of danger,

feigning ignorance at the trespass

of the man who slouched down in – his – seat

and spread the most noxious grin

no-one could ever admit to hearing,

overcome by the squeal of tracks,

overwhelmed by trying to keep track

of the faint scent of their individual destinations.