“Everyone’s going to work well not me I’m not going to work.”
– James Moore
Excuse me sir are those—
Sir, I’m going to have to ask—
Sir, don’t block the subway door
with your bundled lifetime of regrets.
The nameless ghosts of there but for the grace
of sheer bad luck and poor decisions
of guilt and guilt and idiot shame—
They fester like corroded wiring
hunger like the living
for something they can’t name.
The lights flicker and the train stops
and we all put down the Economist,
stare and meet no eye and—
And now what? Nobody’s going
to work now.