You Read The Reader On The N This Morning

With 9am approaching,
You didn’t notice me
Noticing you
Reading ‘The Reader’

On a packed
Northbound N
Caboose
For one stop
Long enough (Just
Enough), to add 34 – 14
To equal 20 blocks.

Braking quick
Like the conductor wanted me
To stumble forward
Enough to brush against you
As if the train was my wingman
Trying to find an opening

You looked up from your book
At me
But not
At me
More of a through
Or an almost.

“34th Street Herald Square,
Transfer is
Available…”

The Reader was then eaten
By your beige
Dooney and Bourke,
You by the exit,
And me by my silence.

“You have the smallest mouth”
My orthodontist used
To say.
I wish it were bigger.