To The Faceless Co-Passengers

Dust motes and sweat stains

Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates

Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,

The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.

I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry

Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?

Pushing through the rush-hour crowd

I finally found my footing and was proud.

Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations

A word of praise for cranky co-passengers

Not that the polite ones aren’t fun

When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.

And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,

At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning

I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default

But at 10 am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.

I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,

Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks

I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.

It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.

And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort

Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support

Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free

Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.

But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me

At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.

I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,

As for me, faceless-ness suits me just fine.