On the subway today,
An Asian woman notates a score, five or more parts, perhaps a symphony;
The woman of color in the green hoodie is mixing a poem about a French kiss, no doubt tasted in Brooklyn;
Two business people leaning against the don’t-lean door are discussing a reading of the one’s play — it was just a reading, she apologizes, though he is nonetheless impressed;
The nondescript young man against the railing caresses the head of an electric guitar case leaning lovingly against his belly;
I begin a poem on my way to teach yoga class.
There is no decrease in the importance of culture in the budget of my world.
Here are the keepers of the flame of our civilization, like yogis dispelling darkness in a lineage back to the gods;
They continue their work of non-market-value and offer us more than patriotic consumption…
more than brand-name poetry;
The creative abundance of the universe
flows from the riders
on the subway today.
by Peter Ferko
October 5, 2011
