Blank verse (unrhymed iambic pentameter, for those out of the proverbial poetic loop) assignment due in an hour that I spent the last 25 minutes on ... damn you, senioritis.
newyork.craigslist.org/missedconnections
The A train, 6 p.m. I'm heading home
and sweating. Set my heels at shoulder-width
to ride the wave. You sit across from her.
You read "A Thousand Splendid Suns," and so
does she. You cannot see (I'm planted in-
between you two). She's cute. Not fat, but not
a salad gal. She looks at me. Nice eyes.
I think you could be into her (if you
could see). I'd move, except there's no room free.
You're reading pretty slow. It's possible
that she's too smart for you. Perhaps that's what
you need. Is it my job to point this out?
Madam, monsieur, excuse me but the book
you hold (that lived a hundred billion weeks
on NY Times Best-Seller List) - well, it's
the same. You're riding the same subway train.
And both at rush hour, at that. What's more,
it's likely that you both have read Khaled's
"The Kite Runner" (because it comes before).
There's even something vaguely foreign-ish
about you both. I think that this could be
the start of something interesting. At worst,
an entertaining tale. It could work out.
But isn't it a little strange or sweet
that they don't have a clue? He's getting up.
It's Broadway-Nassau Street. That's my stop, too.
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