My Lady of the E Train

Here, between the posters

shouting education for the blind

and Jack Daniels whiskey

you are a huddled winter's coat,

eyes trapped between a black ski cap

and bright red scarf

like a Moorish maiden

who would dart away in a crowded market.

We do not dart here:

stacked like cartons of detergent bottles.

Your eyes avoid mine;

how do you know,

I am not child molester

or stock broker?

In my pinstripe blue,

I am like the others,

man, filled with gasping breath

and desire..

You wish to be known

as artist, friend

not simply by

the body's quick panic.

I have the indifferent leer

of a million others

who would caress your face

and pass on unknowing.

Guilty.

I have lusted;

I have sought less

than your truest self.

Yet, beneath all this is the certainty

that the chance meeting of our eyes

can produce miracles.