Panic
The heat is like a burlap bag
That’s fastened ‘round your head.
In several minutes, you’ll succumb
And feel like you are dead.
The subway, though, is cold as vodka
When it’s nicely chilled.
Although there’s not a seat, the coolness
Makes you rather thrilled.
The train is plowing on its path
When suddenly, it stops.
The lights grow dim, the A/C dies
And man, your heart just drops.
The panic starts to pulse and pound
As sweat pops from your pores.
Attempts to think of pleasant things
Your racing brain ignores.
You keep your eyes fixed on the page,
But nothing’s making sense.
You wonder if the others trapped
Are feeling quite as tense.
Then suddenly the lights go bright;
The train begins to move.
The air kicks in, your heart slows down;
Imaginings improve.
It doesn’t take too much to go
From calm to full-blown panic.
Just fathom how I would have fared
On board the doomed Titanic!
Copyright © Ilene Bauer | Year Posted 2012
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