Unfounded Hatred Toward a Young Stranger
The subway station heaves with muffled noise,
The shuffle of countless feet against the grime,
I am aware of unfounded disdain,
Coursing between strangers in the city's bowels.
The ancient fluorescents blink in yellow strobe,
Casting faint light on self-assuring cries and whispers,
Where breathy sighs of pity mingle with laughter
That hides like vermin in the concrete seams.
The old man's stare, bitter, unwavering,
Follows the young man with a foreign tongue,
Each syllable grating on his weary ears,
Each word a puncture in his sense of self.
The tracks beneath pulsate with distant rhythm,
An electric hum heralding trains,
And all around, unseen but felt,
Silent inner pleas for the world to be as I see it and want it to be.
The young man's cap is tilted with casual ease,
His eyes bright, unguarded, full of tomorrow,
While the old man's grip tightens on his cane,
Knuckles white with a lifetime's anger.
And then, a sudden scream and rush,
The young man trips, stumbles, and falls,
A quick descent into the void below,
His body meets the rails with a sickening thud.
The old man flinches, a breath caught in his throat,
The echoes of horror ripple through the crowd,
The subway station halts, a silence heavy,
As the train screeches, too late to stop.
The old man's eyes, now wide with shock,
No longer see the young man's accent,
Only the lifeless form where he once stood,
The shadowed truth beneath all their words.
The strangers around draw closer,
Their differences momentarily blurred,
In the shared reality of what they've witnessed,
A grim reminder of fleeting, fragile life.
The old man turns away, his heart a twisted knot,
The anger replaced with a somber void,
The self-assurance crumbles like brittle stone,
Leaving only questions with no clear answers.
Copyright ©
Don Iannone
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