Night descends upon Manhattan like a phantom.
The stars fall from the heavens,
Scattering themselves about the avenues.
Bathed in the pastry shop window’s sickly fluorescence,
I tumble down the hell-mouth of the subway station
And catch the uptown express
Moonlight on the Hudson
As we emerge from underground
And make our way skyward.
The ragged man across from me sings folk songs,
Guitar in hand and desperation in his voice
While the elderly woman in the corner munches on lotus blossoms,
Her vacant stare revealing all the hardships she’s seen,
Listening to Sketches of Spain
On this “elevated” train.
© Chester Sakamoto