Pavements bake in the Summer sun,
Hydrants and puddles are children's fun.
Too old for a hose, too rushed for a pool,
She escapes to where the tunnels are cool.
Below the cars, below the street,
Station stairs clap with stepping feet.
The pillars rumble - down the tunnel a faint glow.
Quiet disperses as bright beams grow.
Concrete quakes - the lights are not far.
With a deafening roar enters the subway car !
Some people get out, more people get in,
Faces are pushed into sweating skin.
Some sit, some stand - where are the most?
Alone, together, a few grab a post.
Until the next stop presses them close,
And strangers embrace, stepping on toes.
Passengers pushing, their senses heightening.
Talcum powder replaces the smell of lightning.
Wheels scream and screech around each bend,
But the car empties out near the line's end.
The cars become hollow, like seating halls,
And tunnel lights are lasers and cannonballs.
Yellow bulbs speed by, and green and red.
On metal rails her train speeds ahead.
The roar seems quiet with no one around.
The rhythm becomes a calming sound.
To her deepest soul always wings it will give -
Each of us have this in the place where we live.
But AC can make this chamber so cold...
Here is her stop - the story is told.
~ C. Keenan, 2003