by Lindsay Griffiths
Pardon me, ma’am but that headline looks far too fabulous and your newspaper is angled far too far to the left and I just can’t stand to stand here against these subway doors and look straight ahead at this gentleman in the toupee with the mustache and monocle or to my right at the intimidating man, no, woman in the size too small pea coat but I’ve looked down and found you seated to my left and so if you wouldn’t mind kindly lending me that page without letting on that you know that I’m reading your paper for, after all, we are, in fact, perfect strangers, or, maybe not perfect, as I have been on this train for seven minutes and have avoided eye contact with him, him, her, him, him, her, and her and have rested my eyes upon the top of your head instead and so I know that you have a widow’s peak and that your hair has been dyed brown and the gray roots are growing out so you should get on that soon, and your skin’s a bit wrinkled like rice paper from a back jeans pocket and your furry gloves are far to fancy for this subway in Manhattan, so I would consider us to be almost acquaintances or perhaps fated friends, for that Russia-related headline has got us both interested save for the few glances I’ve seen you stealing at the man with the mustache who gives off this British vibe which is perhaps because of his monocle which may be the reason my train of thought sounds sort of this way or maybe because, well you know, I watched Harry Potter last night so my thinking is quite, well, sorcerer’s stony, if that makes any sense but it seems you don’t care or really couldn’t since, to everyone else, I’ve been silent this whole time, and I wonder if maybe you can feel my gaze on your head and perhaps, if you can, you’ve concluded I’m crazy or sick, but I’m healthy except it might cause you concern that my prescriptions should have been refilled weeks ago but I’m sure I’ll be fine since the doctor told me my dosage is “recommended” and I’m sure if he required that I really had to take it, it would be “mandated” so all is well with me…for now…but I’m sure if you just let me peek, peek, peek at your paper then- oh.
Here’s my stop.
