To a young man doubled over on the T

Car’s empty–
Morning rush is over
And the light,
Unhurried, washes
The bottoms-up knapsack
About to dump not much
Onto your skinned neck
As you peer under
A bench I hope
Is hiding a scratch card
For Double or Nothing,
A Kit Kat, something
That in its nature
And name will unjinx
Your halved torso,
Unstick its hinge
And find a right
Angle, straight edge,
To walk the fuck
Away from this dog-
Fight, your inverted biplane
Flying the Red Line
And rat-a-tatting
Ghosts along the floor.

Photo: Boston Magazine