confetti - Going to Astoria

by Alex Shafer

“Going to Astoria” by Alex Shafer

I took the subway today
from Bushwick to Astoria,
The L to the G to the 7 to the Q
where I walked around a little
and got a Cocoanut-Pineapple drink
at Starbucks, because I was thirsty,
and not in the mood for coffee,
and sat on one of the wooden benches
that line the street,
so I could write a little something
about how I wasn’t murdered
on the subway today
here in New York City.

It’s not something I think about often.
But today, after Paris, (and Beirut, and Kenya)
I’m thinking perhaps I should feel fortunate.

All those people,
hurtling through space together,
who by some strange miracle,
felt it was too much trouble
to kill people.

I don’t think they’re exceptional humans.
They look pretty ordinary to me,
so perhaps there were a few
who were in the mood,
for a little mass murder,
but didn’t.

That’s the thing, isn’t it?
They didn’t.
No one on the subway took the life of anyone today.
No one.

These ordinary people—
young and old,
and everything in between,
black and white,
and everything in between
gay and straight
and everything in between,
who pray this way or that,
or not at all.
whose lives are pretty hard I suspect,
and may not be filled with love and joy,
who look pretty tired and put upon —
choose daily, minute by minute,
to leave be all the others,
regardless of who they are,
regardless of what broken world
their ancestors dropped out of,
into this train.

Maybe it is the sea of multitude minds
with no singular purpose,
other than going to their own
particular somewhere
regarding each other silently,
that keeps us all afloat.