Another poem on and just off the blue line (from journal 03-20-11)

It's bad when the blue line breaks down between
The Firestone and 108th Street stations
because I cannot walk to the Del Amo station from there

I can, but I won't

So I sit here
I am a poet
So the remembering is always itchy
Depending on the day
I can go either way

I started reinacting fights between him and me
But the thoughts only left me angry
And I am still stuck on the train after that

So now I make up stories
About the other passengers
What their lives are about
Like I should have a clue

It's bad to be stuck on the train
With nothing to do
But wonder if
The black guy standing with all the tattoos
Will leave his backpack behind
And kill us all
And his own fool self

Now that the train is running
We are almost at the Compton station
I can't turn my head off
'Cause once you trigger a poets creativity on the train
She won't stop until the Mexican girl
Comes into her car selling M&M's peanut

But there is no Mexican girl
With her backpack too full of
M&M's and other chocolate I don't need

I keep writing and can't figure out
Why the black girl across from me is trying to impress the white guy
With her perfect grammar
Her Louie bag, her sagging titties

We are all on the train trying to get home
Or where everrrr
He doesn't care
I want to scream
But I don't

Everyone but you can see he doesn't care
He asks if she has children and how many

"Three"
She says
"I have three girls"
Brief pause
"But only one baby daddy just in case you were wondering"

So what lady
So what

And I get to the Del Amo station
Only to find I just missed the 192 bus to South Street
So I go across the street to the swap meet
To get a notebook
Because every bus riding poets angst
Is cured with a brand new notebook

I walk past the spray painted shoes that say
Big Pimpin
Past the Laker jersyes

Purchase a pair of gray tights
Because I cannot resist a pair of tights
Even though I started to walk away
But then the Korean booth owner yells
"Excuse me! We have a large!"
Like I need him to yell that I am a large

I buy the tights anyway
Then my new notebook
And gum
And chocolate
And pads 'cause you know who is coming soon
Hence all my jittery in the first place

It's all ok because I'm back on the bus
The black high school girls with weaves too long
Talking too loud
Are perfect fodder
For my next poem