muse

On the subway, a large woman
in a corn flower blue dress
stands holding a centerpost
near the midsection of the car,
urinating with a look of pleasure,
gazing fixedly as though someone
were standing next to her–
though no one stands there–
nodding in agreement as if she's
just been asked her opinion
about some important matter,
and all the while urine
is splashing onto the floor,
soaking her lisle stockings
which are rolled down below
her knees, darkening her shoes,
runneling toward the far end
of the train–each of us lifting
our feet in sequence as it streams
by us; and she, as we pull
into the 86th Street Station
snaps at her invisible friend,
you coming or not? and steps
grandly off the train.