Wednesday, May 31

POEM ON THE TRANSBAY TUBE

On the train I’m always looking
for a distraction

from the train, speeding
through a tunnel

underwater—from my fear
that the tunnel will fail

and we will drown.
All day I’ve been thinking

about the body, about
our beautiful, singular bodies,

looking at the veins
on my forearms,

my underdeveloped muscles—
how could any of this

ever protect me? All day I felt
like a shot bird

spiraling to the ground.
On the other side,

at street-level,
I pay for a straight-razor shave

just so a man
will touch me.

He gets close, holds
my jaw still,

his breath on my ear.
The aftershave

is a cold burn,
so often a following act

for tenderness. Every day,
countless rays and waves

pass through me
undetected. And I am to believe

that nearly all of them
are harmless.

(Jim Whiteside)