RIDING
by Rupi Natt

I can’t sleep unless I’m hiding, riding
the subway alone, as it goes gliding
through the downtown core. Sometimes there’s fighting,
noisy men slurring, punching, and biting,
but mostly people are hurried, leaving
me dozing alone, half-dreaming, grieving
the bed I left so quickly, believing
that I would find another, conceiving
of kindness in strangers. I’m now learning
there’s nowhere to go when you’re not earning.
Well, there’s that place, which leaves you yearning
and the other, which will leave you burning
with the desire to be hiding, riding
the subway, alone, as it goes gliding.