The Crisis

Hark!—
The subway trains are toast
packed to the brim with
some of the most imbecilic trolls.
Hands and feet in between the
closing doors. Priority seats taken
up by twenty-something-year-olds.
And countless homeless souls
begging greedy pockets for a quarter.
We have a courtesy crisis on our hands!
And no enforcement to behold.
Only dogs sniffing for bombs and
armed forces demanding tolls
because who knows what’s in the
pockets of preteens putting up a show?
I said there’s a crisis on our hands!
And it demands proper attention!
No more idleness, no more “good intentions”
no more automated messages from
graying wenches who haven’t been on
a subway car in decades.
I’m tired of all the talking
I’m tired of all the crap
I’m tired of being pushed back in
when escaping the subway trap.
Is it really so hard to be courteous?
I find it very hard to believe.
Then again, we’re living in the time
of “me,” while all else

falls beneath.

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