Dance Party of One

Subway dervish

dancing for his own soul

fueled by a tiny smoke

and his own valiant mind.

Commuters ignore him,

another part of city scenery

to avoid.

Chinese residents hustle by,

a few financial men

see him,

contemplate this merger

of joy and madness.

He spins and jives,

a one-man setback

old and broken of mind.

The body spins and dances

on and on,

keeping a flame alive

that was long ago forgotten.

Let it flicker still somewhere

while we go about our busy days.

The Greatest Borough

Clacking upwards to the

Elevated station

Commuting through the glory of working Queens

The Engine of an ungrateful city

The workhorse by choice

And sleeping giant

Screaming steaming vents

In the empty yards where dogs stand bent,

Stacks of cannibalized cars

Jumbled together in wayward piles

Swayed stacks no longer aligned

Disobeying the orders of

Modern times

Proud of our dirty cousin borough,

With heaps of car parts

Near where the starts dine

At the gleaming grassy field.

With a million carved out spaces

For the legion of weary faces

Coming home again to Queens