Choke
       

Winter overstayed its dumb welcome.
Even the dependably cheerful snow
wears a thick drizzle of itchy grit.

All us workers shuttling to and from
Queens share the same cranky stare:
the coffee is no longer working and

we're all tired of our swampy coats,
our musty hats and peeling boots.
The parents have given up, letting

their kids wipe spigot noses down
the entire length of their sleeves
to their tiny mismatched hands:

one glove, one mitten. The sun
is a bright white lie, plain useless
on the other side of the plexiglass.

When the subway doors stutter open,
we don't flinch as that razor wind
slaps our mouths, wakes our babies.

In fact, none of us make a sound,
instead we sit grim-faced and wait:
wait for our stop, our weekend,

wait for Spring to finally arrive like
back pay, like something kept from us
which we all have absolutely earned.

Copyright © 2009 Cristin O'Keefe Aptowicz All rights reserved
from Everything Is Everything
write bloody publishing
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission