Each metro car is a grab bag
Of cultures, histories, morning moods.
From the turbaned lady
Bopping her head to silent music
To the beefy, big-footed boy
Graciously accepting the advice of a plaid-clad senior,
The metro teems with stories new and old,
Each passenger toting their day’s work in a bag
Appropriate for arrival in Mr. Boss's
Office. Each customer projecting their carefully crafted morning mood,
Enveloped in ear bud music
So they can gaze straight through the lady
In front of them, pretending they don’t see a lady
Who could use a seat, or an old
Man who is precariously close to falling into the lap of the these music-listening
Professionals. The courageous ones may even store their bag
On the empty seat next to them, projecting a grumpy mood,
A warning from a small woman aimed at men,
Daring them (masculine)
To sit next to a vulnerable, easily startled lady.
The Morning Metro Mood,
Common to riders young and old,
The stuff that fills each briefcase and backpack,
The silent soundtrack
The clickety-clackety music
Of train tracks, and the pressing atmosphere of men's
Deodorant are consistent, but the contents of each metro car
Change every morning and evening. I (a lady)
Mix into the selections as if it’s old news,
Adopting the morning commuter mood,
But really, my mood
Is excited - watching a symphony
Of people, all old
Enough to have complicated existences. Each man
And woman
In the grab-bag
Metro car contributes to the old woman’s experience, the young man's
Discovery, the private mood of earbud music
The hours it takes to organize my bag.