"Astor Place Station," by Ron Kolm
Astor Place Station
I’d just dropped off
Some consignment stuff
At St. Mark’s Bookshop
And had fifteen minutes to make it
To Grand Central Terminal
Or I’d be late for work.
I got to the ornate
Astor Place entrance
To the uptown local and froze-
A sea of commuters
Poured up the steps
And broke around me
Like a wave on the beach.
I’d just missed a train.
I paid my fare and walked
Up the empty platform.
As I approached the garbage bins
At the north end of the station
I passed a column and came face
To face with a dude
Who was breathing heavily
His back to the tracks.
I realized what was up right away
And, idiot that I am, pointed it out to him.
“Hey, you just jumped the rails
And crossed the tracks.
What’s up with that?” I said,
Smiling to show I was hip.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said,
Staring right through me.
“Whoa, no problem!” I said
Nervously, “I’m cool!”
“I’m not going back to prison,”
He continued, unblinking.
“I’m down with that,” I said,
My mind racing like a cockroach
When you turn on the lights.
“Do you like the Yankees?”
He asked, stunning me.
“Well, no, but I do like the Mets a bit,”
I answered stupidly, given the situation.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again,
Squaring his shoulders and striding off
Towards the distant exit.
I looked down the platform
And saw figures with flashlights
Searching the tracks.
I was getting later
And later for work, but
I didn’t know what to do:
I’d made it through the Sixties
And I didn’t want to betray
A brother to the man,
So I just stood there.
A number 6 train,
Moving very slowly
Finally pulled into the station
And I got on and sat down
Shaking a little.
Across from me
Leaning against a door
Was the biggest transit cop
I’d ever seen, with a tiny
Full-moon of a face,
All out of proportion.
I wanted to ask him
What had happened at the station
We were leaving behind
But I figured if it had been
Something really bad
I’d be a material witness
So I kept my mouth shut
And went to work.
~ Ron Kolm
(From Urban Graffiti Daily, June 27, 2014)
I’d just dropped off
Some consignment stuff
At St. Mark’s Bookshop
And had fifteen minutes to make it
To Grand Central Terminal
Or I’d be late for work.
I got to the ornate
Astor Place entrance
To the uptown local and froze-
A sea of commuters
Poured up the steps
And broke around me
Like a wave on the beach.
I’d just missed a train.
I paid my fare and walked
Up the empty platform.
As I approached the garbage bins
At the north end of the station
I passed a column and came face
To face with a dude
Who was breathing heavily
His back to the tracks.
I realized what was up right away
And, idiot that I am, pointed it out to him.
“Hey, you just jumped the rails
And crossed the tracks.
What’s up with that?” I said,
Smiling to show I was hip.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said,
Staring right through me.
“Whoa, no problem!” I said
Nervously, “I’m cool!”
“I’m not going back to prison,”
He continued, unblinking.
“I’m down with that,” I said,
My mind racing like a cockroach
When you turn on the lights.
“Do you like the Yankees?”
He asked, stunning me.
“Well, no, but I do like the Mets a bit,”
I answered stupidly, given the situation.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again,
Squaring his shoulders and striding off
Towards the distant exit.
I looked down the platform
And saw figures with flashlights
Searching the tracks.
I was getting later
And later for work, but
I didn’t know what to do:
I’d made it through the Sixties
And I didn’t want to betray
A brother to the man,
So I just stood there.
A number 6 train,
Moving very slowly
Finally pulled into the station
And I got on and sat down
Shaking a little.
Across from me
Leaning against a door
Was the biggest transit cop
I’d ever seen, with a tiny
Full-moon of a face,
All out of proportion.
I wanted to ask him
What had happened at the station
We were leaving behind
But I figured if it had been
Something really bad
I’d be a material witness
So I kept my mouth shut
And went to work.
~ Ron Kolm
(From Urban Graffiti Daily, June 27, 2014)