The Gatekeeper

The tourist in front has a map and a problem,

swiping her card like she’s trying to light a fire.

We are bunched up behind her, a human knot

of people with places to be and no time for theater.

When it finally clicks, the metal is cold.

I push through and the bar hits my hip,

oily and hard, a mechanical shrug.

In the corner of the cage, a transfer slip

is spinning in the draft of the downtown train.

It’s dirty and ignored, like the rest of us,

waiting for a hand that isn’t coming.