In the Wee Hours

Damn, I remember
those garbage trains
that run on
New York City subway tracks
in the wee hours.

Those dirty canary yellow
flatbed barges on wheels
that taunt nocturnal revelers
as they try to make
their way home

after a night
of anything and everything.

I was one of those riders
without a curfew.

A scene in a movie
reminds me I used to live
there. I used to
stay out so deep
into after dark

light would begin to jockey for position
between buildings.

Would begin to reflect off
metal storefront and newsstand gates
about to be rolled up
into another fabulously
grime-written, frenetic day.

I used to be stupid and fearless
and bold as the horn
that would blast
through the tunnel
into the station to sober us up.

6 thoughts on “In the Wee Hours

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