The Lean

The lunch that I skipped is a hole in my gut,

making the concrete feel loose like a rug.

I stood on the platform, eyes partially shut,

while the tunnel gave out a low, thundering shrug.

The yellow strips buzzed under the soles of my boots.

I looked at the grease on the tracks far below,

and the world tilted up, pulling hard at my roots,

as if asking how far I was willing to go.