Mada and Adam stand under the
Buzzing MTA sign to use the ATM.
Mada looks in the tiny mirror and sees
Adam over her shoulder, his face blank.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Cubby Holes
On my way home,
Waiting for the 42 bus,
Looking over across K Street,
I stared into a massive block of cubic building,
Lit from the inside,
The yellow light broken by black lines
Running up and down, back and forth
Forming squares over its face.
I was reminded of cubby holes,
Like the kind I’d leave my sneakers in,
When I went to go play in the ball pit as a child.
But before me I saw offices,
Much like the one I had just left,
And I was compelled to wonder why
I spend eight, nine, ten, twelve hours a day
Living in a cubby hole;
Wondering if there is a ball pit I could be playing in, instead.
Waiting for the 42 bus,
Looking over across K Street,
I stared into a massive block of cubic building,
Lit from the inside,
The yellow light broken by black lines
Running up and down, back and forth
Forming squares over its face.
I was reminded of cubby holes,
Like the kind I’d leave my sneakers in,
When I went to go play in the ball pit as a child.
But before me I saw offices,
Much like the one I had just left,
And I was compelled to wonder why
I spend eight, nine, ten, twelve hours a day
Living in a cubby hole;
Wondering if there is a ball pit I could be playing in, instead.
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