Stopping By the Q On a Weekday Evening

Which train will come, I’ll try to guess But that won’t really help my stress. It’s building up as crowds surround Creating quite the urban mess. The tourists all must think we’re nuts To cram on platforms where such gluts Of humans stream without an end To pack so tight we’re touching butts. Announcements say the train is near. We crane our necks; no lights appear. Then suddenly the rumble sounds Of braking by the engineer. The subway’s stuffy, cramped and late. It does its best to aggravate But all that we can do is wait And that is what we do; we wait. (apologies to Robert Frost)