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08 March 2012

Subway soliloquy

You are behind that counter,
your canvas – pastrami, provolone, salt and pepper,
these your fleeting tools, as I suppose,
like New Years pull poppers used and forgotten.
Surely the learned setting outside is your playground.

Behind that counter now, a way station of necessity,
smoke of engines soon departing obscure all but now,
yet in your future, I sense the tasseled-hat adieu to lunchmeats.

And then you speak and words betray,
reveal not pull poppers, but a fuse of indeterminate length.
To you, the smell of fast food toil is a lifelong linger
on your polyester shirt.

Behind that counter now.
Behind that counter forever.
Until you are no longer young,
until first impressions do not mislead.