Station Poem by bob barci

Not needed at work,
I find myself sleeping later than usual.
Most of the day
is spent at unemployment
wondering if there ‘s temporary or part time job for me
when not needed at work.
Agent I deal with isn’t in
and no one else wants to be bothered.
Job search computer goes haywire
while I’m using it,
so, I head home, disgusted.

At home, I freshen up and pack an overnight bag.
I call for a cab to take me to the train station.
I have to wait for quite some time for the cab to arrive.
When I finally do show up at the Floral Park station,
it’s with a few minutes to spare.
There are at least a few people waiting for the 3: 14.
They complain about the cold
but won’t go into the waiting room.
Inside, isn’t any better.
Busted windows and flooded floor
make it just as cold inside as out,
and there’s the strong smell of urine.
Considering all the snow on the tracks,
the train arrives only 5 minutes late.

We arrive and make the transfer at Jamaica so quickly
I barely remember making it.
Luckily I find a seat facing forwards
as I hate to take the ride facing backwards.
As I settle into my seat,
I notice the wide range of passengers.
In front of me
there’s a woman and her two noisy young children.
Directly across the aisle
are two young men holding hands
and looking over at me.
Standing by the door is an odd trio.
Well groomed man in a business suit, a Hell’s Angel type,
and guy with very long, snow white hair,
and they seem to be the best of friends.
Up ahead are loud teenagers
on their way to a club in the city.

Finally we pull into Penn Station.
And now for the fun part -
making my way through crowds of people
who seem to purposely get in your way and refuse to move aside.
And the homeless -
let’s not forget about them.
You can’t get out of the station
without at least 2 of them
asking for your change
or shaking a coffee cup in your face.
But, as I ride the escalator up to 7th Ave.,
I forget all that
and open up myself to the wonders of the city.