In this poem, the poet interprets an ordinary scene in his own highly unique way. Few would see poetry in such an ordinary occurrence. But poetry is truly a personal and sometimes an ineffable experience.
Here I amby Michael Ryan
on a subway station bench
next to two teens, one pretty, one not:
the pretty one keeps saying how much
she’ll miss the unpretty one, kissing her cheeks,
while the unpretty one looks down at her lap
saying no you won’t no you won’t until the train comes
and on goes the pretty one still smiling,
twirling her red plastic clutch, singing goodbye
I’ll call you, and the unpretty one just sits here
like a stone, even after the train is gone,
even after I write this down.