The outing By aldo kraas, www.PoetryPoem.com/poet11586 Unlock all Features - Upgrade to Poetry Prime
On the west fourth street station,
Waiting for an M train to take me
Back to Brooklyn, I see their ragged,
Uneven line being pushed along with
The causal brutality of the uninvolved.
They are slack jawed ,drooling and staring
At us with blank faces that ask questions
Which can never be answered.
Their institutional issued gray pants,
Dirty shirts which were white a long time ago
And housedresses wilting in the fetid heat
Of the station hang from their bodies
Like ill measured hand-me-down shrouds.
One woman,in a moment of ill-considered
Bravery, asks the attendants to stop pushing them
And is cursed out while a young policeman,
In his smiling sadistic insolence,tell her to let me them
Do their job.the train finally screeches into the station
And they are shoved into a crowded car.
I get into a different one,put my face into a book
And try hard not to think about them...
And that is what the hell I am.
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