Ode to Mikey

by

Sylvester Lawrence Jackson ll

Dedicated to Michael and Bernie Colbert

Cars traveling north and south, East and west, non-upholstered seats, orange, grey and blue.

Souls flashing by in a rush to get nowhere, stairs leading to levels unknown, sometimes in or even outside, stand back, far away with hopes of completing your 9-5 day, steel on steel grinding to a halt, as doors fly open and people begin to shout, “Watch the closing doors,” bing bong.

People going to work or maybe a game, going underground to escape the snow or rain, Harlem, Brooklyn or Queens, from 42nd Street to the hood. NYC is the city that never sleeps, a melting pot of people from around the world, made up of men, women, boys and girls, white collar, blue collar and laborers too, working in our city and building it anew, but remember, the New York motto of “If you see something, say something,” it'll keep us safe. 

Our subways take us to Central Park, the Bronx Zoo, Conley Island and the New York World’s Fair, you can travel anywhere and feel right at home, trust me you won't be alone, and at the end of the day, you'll have a couple of subway stories of your own.

Subway trains traveling at the speed of light filled with human souls, like sardines in a can shared with gigantic rats and garbage bins, traveling on rails not knowing where they come from, or where they have been, going back and forth day and night. 

Standing on platforms where we can view the sites of the young and old, crippled and limbed, wheelchairs, crutches and even a cane, walking from one spot to another in the severest of pain, trying to reach your destination before the end of the day. Is this your Subway story, is this what you meant to say? Pay your fare and have a seat. Your next stop: The Twilight Zone.

Sylvester Lawrence “Sonny” Jackson II is a writer and retired Marine. As many of you know, Sonny is one of the most important members of our writing workshop for people returning from incarceration.