juncture

Sitting on a crowded Q
in a stolen subway chair
(acquired by beating the frumpy man
to the chinese woman's
vacant seat)
on the east, furthest from
the city -
the horde of heads
all turn in reverie toward
the 5 o'clock skyline
creating their own curved
and crooked line of sky
with their tall squat short
thin figures blocking
the sunset backdrop.

I bob my head
to catch a glimpse but the people
structures barely blink long enough
to wince or shrink for me to see
they're packed too densely, immensley
blocking my view
A man moves left
just enough to leave me
a keyhole peek -
the tail end of the
Brooklyn Bridge slithers
into sight with the Watchtower
sitting still behind it.

I hunch my shoulders in
despondance and scribble down
this internal correspondence.