Asleep on the A Train

The stench
hit hard
but it was too late,
the door
slammed
SHUT
and the A train

was quickly

on its way out
of Howard Beach station
bound for Manhattan.

Early morning
and the homeless
guys were
still
asleep
spread
across
the seats
in a dirty,
barely
human
sprawl
zipper down
pants
revealing
too much
dark skin.

I looked out
toward the
other end
of the car –
where everyone
else
was
already
filling
the seats—
and
sat myself
down,
bags close by,
reaching for
the blessing
of Altoids
and the beauty
of Pavorati’s voice
in Ipod relief
to make
the unbareable
not so
and
to
help me
see
the humanity
in my own
heart,
showing
all personal dignity,
as I sat
on the A train
with these three men
lost
and dirty,
smelling
of their
own
urine,
drawing
others away,
as we all turn away
refusing to see
ourselves
in them,
to feel them
beyond their ugliness,
as they lay
sprawled
across the seats
in the last car of the A Train
speeding obliviously on
to Manhattan,
to Penn station
to the place where
I
would
make
my own
escape.