August Poem 11: The Subway Station

In the subway terminal, Jenkins pulled

His shirt away from his chest and pumped it

Back and forth to circulate the cool air.

The air conditioner took the edge off

The triple digit temperatures of late

October. This Indian summer brought

A shroud of strangling humidity

Not unlike the lingering barnyard smell

Of body odor and urine of the

Typical subway stop. Not only was

There a long line to get through the turnstiles,

But the place was jammed with people standing

Around dripping sweat. Likely, most of them

Had stopped in to take a break from the heat.

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