The A Train, Wednesday, November 1st, 2023
Candy wrappers on the street
The boilers broken in apartment again. But someone’s coming to check it today.
The heat is working great on the A train.
My child is excited for her first time on a school bus, they are going on field a trip to a farm.
I’m on my way to the doctors.
On the phone.
How are you?
I don’t know know. That’s why I’m calling.
He starts calling me Nigel half way through. I don’t correct him. Reasoning if it’s bad news, then it’s for Nigel.
Bombs on civilians. Little children. And grown ups who were children. All of them with names, friends, favourite foods, music, dreams and hopes for fresh water and a sky that doesn’t kill them.
A father says, “We all sleep in the one bed now. This way either we all survive or we all die together.”
The majority punished for the actions of the minority.
Justice. My hole.
I turn off the radio.
It’s not suitable for kids.
The world outside.
Beyond our far away militarized border.
Where it’s not safe for kids.
Complicit – partly to blame.
Imagine if we did some of the same terrible things, and imagine we had lots of enemies and then we made some more enemies.
And these enemies could just walk into a store and buy assault rifles? That’d be mad wouldn’t it? Yeah.
Did you get any homework?
You had a lockdown drill?
You kept very quiet? That’s good.. I see.
My friend says it’s in case a stranger comes into our school.
Good god, where are the grown ups?
Drummer in the Subway Car
“I’d like to start my show with manners and respect “
“Where are the manners you demand from others?
Some of y’all live in the matrix.”
“A little culture. Afro Cuban drums and the history of music from Congo to Jazz. “