Thanks for a glimpse of the city I love and miss every day. I salivated as I watched you bite into the sandwich.
Here is one of my favorite NY poems (may have to email it to you if you want to see the formatting):
“D to the E to the J” by Christopher Luna
You don’t want to be on either end of a 12-9. The public doesn’t often hear about it, but it’s not such an unusual thing. On average, it happens more than 20 times a year. In a city that has fashioned so many gruesome ways to die, not all 12-9’s are suicides. With 4.7 million people riding the subways every weekday, New York’s 468 train stations are more crowded than ever.
“excuse me”
“it’s alright”
10 o’clock please stand back from the platform edge
“it’s the one decision no one can make for ya
it’s between you and God”
I like to watch people whose lips move while they read. The headphones the many shoes the handbags and the lipstick. Ah the petulants! NYC girls got the pout, the eye roll down. Can I borrow your attitude and take it for a ride wherever? Please give me a signal that you too have heard the song in the subway clack.
“the deal ends at 5 o’clock in the morning
5 o’clock in the morning it’s over”
wildhair leaps about shaking the change in his cup
one tooth fries in his beard
no habla espanol still he
slaps me on the shoulder
recognizing a kindred conspirator
adjunct professor whistles a satchel tune
“your sweater”
“I know”
purple bruise recounts
evenings in the nosebleed seats
he talk but nobody listens
perhaps his bloated ankles
make them uncomfortable
“you got a good job, let me know if they’re hiring” “come down tomorrow”
is the continuous tape loop
assaulting my inner ear
“momma don’t take my Kodachrome
momma don’t take my Kodachrome
momma don’t take my Kodachrome away-AY-AY-AY”
evidence of OCD?
not in service train sends ripples of filth across
anonymous white ass impaled on anonymous black cock
glossy page sway as you listen
to the girls talk on the phone:
“Who dis? I thought you was Drew. Who told you to call me a bitch? Tell him he’s a faggot. It’s VICKI!”
“I have to go. I’m not stupid Ma.”
the boy whines “I WANNA TAKE THE F!”
as his sister insists that their father sing with her
the new song she’s learned:
“from every mountain side let freedom ring. . . “
There’s one space case that is lore among the ESU legions. His lower half was completely severed but the subway and platform acted as a tourniquet. As soon as the train was moved, the cops knew, the man was going to die, so they first allowed him to call his family and say his last goodbyes.
“double-A batteries people
8 for a dollar
you can’t beat it”
“you got duracell?”
“no, powercell”
“I got busted right there. McDonald’s they didn’t want me to take a shit,
so I took one right there. That’s how they took me in.”
David Molina will never forget what happened on Nov. 23, 1996 at 9:17 p.m. Not 9:20 p.m. – “9:17 p.m.”
“she owe me 10, 20, 30 dollars
outta my piggy bank
I gotta master lock on that shit
are you kidding me?”
130 cases since 1995. An additional 15 killed in 99, 22 in 98, and 21 in 1997 after being struck by trains. 19 through September. ESU cops know that when they are called to a 12-9, they won’t be able to negotiate. Most likely, they’ll be dealing with a corpse.
Thanks for a glimpse of the city I love and miss every day. I salivated as I watched you bite into the sandwich.
Here is one of my favorite NY poems (may have to email it to you if you want to see the formatting):
“D to the E to the J” by Christopher Luna
You don’t want to be on either end of a 12-9. The public doesn’t often hear about it, but it’s not such an unusual thing. On average, it happens more than 20 times a year. In a city that has fashioned so many gruesome ways to die, not all 12-9’s are suicides. With 4.7 million people riding the subways every weekday, New York’s 468 train stations are more crowded than ever.
“excuse me”
“it’s alright”
10 o’clock please stand back from the platform edge
“it’s the one decision no one can make for ya
it’s between you and God”
I like to watch people whose lips move while they read. The headphones the many shoes the handbags and the lipstick. Ah the petulants! NYC girls got the pout, the eye roll down. Can I borrow your attitude and take it for a ride wherever? Please give me a signal that you too have heard the song in the subway clack.
“the deal ends at 5 o’clock in the morning
5 o’clock in the morning it’s over”
wildhair leaps about shaking the change in his cup
one tooth fries in his beard
no habla espanol still he
slaps me on the shoulder
recognizing a kindred conspirator
adjunct professor whistles a satchel tune
“your sweater”
“I know”
purple bruise recounts
evenings in the nosebleed seats
he talk but nobody listens
perhaps his bloated ankles
make them uncomfortable
“you got a good job, let me know if they’re hiring” “come down tomorrow”
is the continuous tape loop
assaulting my inner ear
“momma don’t take my Kodachrome
momma don’t take my Kodachrome
momma don’t take my Kodachrome away-AY-AY-AY”
evidence of OCD?
not in service train sends ripples of filth across
anonymous white ass impaled on anonymous black cock
glossy page sway as you listen
to the girls talk on the phone:
“Who dis? I thought you was Drew. Who told you to call me a bitch? Tell him he’s a faggot. It’s VICKI!”
“I have to go. I’m not stupid Ma.”
the boy whines “I WANNA TAKE THE F!”
as his sister insists that their father sing with her
the new song she’s learned:
“from every mountain side let freedom ring. . . “
There’s one space case that is lore among the ESU legions. His lower half was completely severed but the subway and platform acted as a tourniquet. As soon as the train was moved, the cops knew, the man was going to die, so they first allowed him to call his family and say his last goodbyes.
“double-A batteries people
8 for a dollar
you can’t beat it”
“you got duracell?”
“no, powercell”
“I got busted right there. McDonald’s they didn’t want me to take a shit,
so I took one right there. That’s how they took me in.”
David Molina will never forget what happened on Nov. 23, 1996 at 9:17 p.m. Not 9:20 p.m. – “9:17 p.m.”
“she owe me 10, 20, 30 dollars
outta my piggy bank
I gotta master lock on that shit
are you kidding me?”
130 cases since 1995. An additional 15 killed in 99, 22 in 98, and 21 in 1997 after being struck by trains. 19 through September. ESU cops know that when they are called to a 12-9, they won’t be able to negotiate. Most likely, they’ll be dealing with a corpse.