A simple old lady

Last train on Line 9
There’s this woman
Older, poor, spent
She has a ring
On her left hand
So she’s married
She’s obviously going
Home from work
Kids long gone
This late
Her husband
Had to cook dinner
For himself
Her eyes don’t say
That she’s thinking of him
Oblivious of drama
She’s picking her nose

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Gypsy King, not

On line 9
There are all kinds of begging musicians
Romany for most
Some of them are good
They play old French classics
That only they know
How to play anymore
But today there was an old wino, white
With a dirty one-string violin that he
Seemingly had found in the trash
He looked despondent
He tried to play
It was like hearing a saw
It jolted everyone in the car
The man was wobbly acting
The sound was excruciating
I just wished he had a home
To go to
So that he’d stop
He fell
Remained there, helpless
Sawing had stopped
At last

Ellar Wise

In spite of

Weird hour on Line 9
Not late enough
For bums to take over
Late enough for good people
To be watching TV
A black guy
Good looking
With a Jewish Princess
Good looking
They’re holding hands
His strong black hand holding
Her delicate small white hand
I can imagine
Mom and Pop
“Are you sure kid?”

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