Subway Dog Days

The F pushes breeze
over a sultry platform-
out of service.

Train leaves
sunburn biking
down the platform.

She reads Frankenstein
aloud through 3 boroughs;
the express slows.

American flag
on both big toenails,
stars on the rest.

Dreaming a slice,
I leap through closing doors
a stop too soon.

Taipei Bus Ride

I stepped away from high-school girls in green
uniforms at the bus stop. Other white men
ravaged Chinese women. Not me. I saved
my hands for myself. The 224 was packed
with lasses in yellow and black. We boarded.
White Men toothpaste had just come out.
Pinned between two skirts, I held onto a bar
so my hands wouldn't touch the curves
where the bus lunged me. Many men took
a ride for just that sensation, or more.
I represented the US, so mom had warned.
So whose hands spidered from my belly on down?
Yikes! They squeezed my chicken then held it
gently as giggles spread from the rear
to the front. Arms covered arms. Which face
belonged to that steady grip? She let go
at my stop as if she knew what white men do.
Someone yelled: He's getting pale!

^

Biography

Michael Morical fiddles with words in the parks and graveyards of Brooklyn as he searches for gainful employment. He lived for 12 years in Taiwan, Japan and India. His book-in-progress reflects his experience there, experimentation with the traditional forms of poetry, Buddhist studies and his own mad streak. He is grateful for the teaching of Marilyn Hacker, Elaine Equi and Ornette Coleman.