- Published on
Christmas Train
Imagine it is cold and dark
And you are very ready to be home
And you're waiting for the uptown C
And a train comes chugging by
And you do a double take
Because it's not the regular train
The cars are different
The upholstery is different
There's something old timey about it
And it's decked out in Christmas lights
You later discover it's an "Arnine" or City Car
In use from the 1930s until 1977
And now re-purposed for Holiday Nostalgia Rides
The Special was on its way uptown
You better watch out, you better not cry,
Stand clear of the closing doors please
The festive season is on its way...
And you are very ready to be home
And you're waiting for the uptown C
And a train comes chugging by
And you do a double take
Because it's not the regular train
The cars are different
The upholstery is different
There's something old timey about it
And it's decked out in Christmas lights
You later discover it's an "Arnine" or City Car
In use from the 1930s until 1977
And now re-purposed for Holiday Nostalgia Rides
The Special was on its way uptown
You better watch out, you better not cry,
Stand clear of the closing doors please
The festive season is on its way...
- Published on
The track below the platform is a sea of
Bottles and plastic bags and old newspapers
A kid on the platform
Thirteen, or fourteen
Takes out a stick of gum
Unwraps it
Pops it in their mouth
Chews
The wrapper is made out of foil and
Four times the size of the object it was protecting
The kid steps to the edge of the platform
Holds the wrapper aloft
Looks around and
Throws it into the sea
The trash can on the platform
Sits empty.
Bottles and plastic bags and old newspapers
A kid on the platform
Thirteen, or fourteen
Takes out a stick of gum
Unwraps it
Pops it in their mouth
Chews
The wrapper is made out of foil and
Four times the size of the object it was protecting
The kid steps to the edge of the platform
Holds the wrapper aloft
Looks around and
Throws it into the sea
The trash can on the platform
Sits empty.
- Published on
There is a woman using a coffee straw like a toothpick. She looks like Julia Roberts, if Julia Roberts had stringy hair. She is wearing a baseball cap with an over-sized fur pom-pom on the top. Mouth wide open, she methodically works her way through her back teeth.
Going over the bridge, between Canal and Dekalb, she pauses from cleaning her teeth to make a call.
“They only have it mocha. No, no brown. It will take longer to get brown. I want the long table.” She elongates the long to laawng. "I'll call you back. I'm about to lose - "
She resumes picking at her teeth. There is something, remnants of turkey burger, stuck between the molars on the left. It kind of hurts. When she rubs over the spot with her tongue she can still taste the turkey. She jiggles the straw to get at the morsel. The straw pushes the tiny bit of turkey deeper into the gap between the teeth.
At Prospect Park her phone regains reception. Straw still in her mouth, she picks up the phone.
“Huh? What? Yeh, I’m in Brooklyn.”
At Church Ave she collects her bag.
"I'm coming up now. I'm telling you, the brown isn't available."
She dumps the toothpick straw as she steps off the train. The end is wet with tiny bits of turkey stuck to it. It rolls on the floor, coming to rest under the seat.
Going over the bridge, between Canal and Dekalb, she pauses from cleaning her teeth to make a call.
“They only have it mocha. No, no brown. It will take longer to get brown. I want the long table.” She elongates the long to laawng. "I'll call you back. I'm about to lose - "
She resumes picking at her teeth. There is something, remnants of turkey burger, stuck between the molars on the left. It kind of hurts. When she rubs over the spot with her tongue she can still taste the turkey. She jiggles the straw to get at the morsel. The straw pushes the tiny bit of turkey deeper into the gap between the teeth.
At Prospect Park her phone regains reception. Straw still in her mouth, she picks up the phone.
“Huh? What? Yeh, I’m in Brooklyn.”
At Church Ave she collects her bag.
"I'm coming up now. I'm telling you, the brown isn't available."
She dumps the toothpick straw as she steps off the train. The end is wet with tiny bits of turkey stuck to it. It rolls on the floor, coming to rest under the seat.
- Published on
There's a little boy, maybe seven or eight, with a sweet and inquisitive face. He's one of those bright kids that given half a chance could be brilliant. Right now, he's restless and bored. These long trips home on the subway are interminable. If only he had something to do.
His mother is exhausted. Exhausted in life and exhausted by him. Why won't he just sit still and be good like his sister? The good child is fast asleep in her lap. The mother leans her head back and closes her eyes.
The boy sees his mother is dozing. He must not make any noise. He stands and faces her, checking to see if she is really asleep or just pretending. Her eyes remain closed. Between her feet on the floor is her backpack. He thinks there maybe something fun in it. A book? A snack? He carefully reaches into the bag. Just when he thinks he has got something, his mother's eyes flick open.
"GET BACK TO YOUR SEAT," she hisses. "You're gonna to get it when we get home."
The boy sits back down, watching her face the whole time. Will she hit him here?
A group of older boys gets on the train. They are tall. They swagger. They stand in the middle of the carriage. One boy calls out,
"What time is it?"
The group responds,
"Show time!"
The little boy is immediately enthralled.
"Mama, it's showtime!"
She glares at him, resumes her nap.
One by one, the boys perform flips and jumps using the handrails and poles. In between, they do tricks with their baseball caps, seamlessly flipping them up and down their arms and back onto their heads. The boys are noisy. They are brash. They are brilliant. No one tells them to be quiet and sit down.
The little boy stares. He could be one of them one day, if they showed him how. He sits up a little taller when they come by with a hat asking for donations. If only he could drop some money, even just a dollar bill, into the hat. Then they'd notice him, maybe even make him a part of their troupe.
"Mama," he says. Through half-closed eyelids, she snarls at him to be quiet.
His mother is exhausted. Exhausted in life and exhausted by him. Why won't he just sit still and be good like his sister? The good child is fast asleep in her lap. The mother leans her head back and closes her eyes.
The boy sees his mother is dozing. He must not make any noise. He stands and faces her, checking to see if she is really asleep or just pretending. Her eyes remain closed. Between her feet on the floor is her backpack. He thinks there maybe something fun in it. A book? A snack? He carefully reaches into the bag. Just when he thinks he has got something, his mother's eyes flick open.
"GET BACK TO YOUR SEAT," she hisses. "You're gonna to get it when we get home."
The boy sits back down, watching her face the whole time. Will she hit him here?
A group of older boys gets on the train. They are tall. They swagger. They stand in the middle of the carriage. One boy calls out,
"What time is it?"
The group responds,
"Show time!"
The little boy is immediately enthralled.
"Mama, it's showtime!"
She glares at him, resumes her nap.
One by one, the boys perform flips and jumps using the handrails and poles. In between, they do tricks with their baseball caps, seamlessly flipping them up and down their arms and back onto their heads. The boys are noisy. They are brash. They are brilliant. No one tells them to be quiet and sit down.
The little boy stares. He could be one of them one day, if they showed him how. He sits up a little taller when they come by with a hat asking for donations. If only he could drop some money, even just a dollar bill, into the hat. Then they'd notice him, maybe even make him a part of their troupe.
"Mama," he says. Through half-closed eyelids, she snarls at him to be quiet.