No Me Diga

Same train as ever, how different it looks as it snakes through other boroughs, there’s only a slight unease at the nape of your neck now that reminds you of something untouchable lost in another tunnel under the river. A small weight next to you on the empty train car.

Your map of the city tumbles and bleeds, twists itself in curlicues, cherry picks colors from a new palette, but the new coats of paint don’t really matter. At the end of the day, no matter how tainted, how dirtied, how washed with nostalgia, these streets remain your own, this city remains a story of your own making.

This is your home.
That doesn’t get lost with the subway system.