"Suffocation En Masse" (an Ode to the T by Esmerelda Villalobos)

Little mice scurry across the tracks
dodging, darting
hurry hurry, little mouse,
the train, itsa comin'.

The big silver box comes
clickety clacking
at a top speed of
2 miles per hour.

Fifteen minutes we've been waiting,
and the cars are overflowing.
Squeeze, push, cram
yourselves into the lack of space.

"Excuse me, sir, I dont mean to be rude,
but if you dont stop breathing on my face,
I'm going to be sick."

Leaning, swaying, pushing,
the train jerks and stops and goes
like a mean little rumba
dancing over the Charles.

Let me out.
I'm going to scream.
If you don't fit, push.
I think tomorrow I'll walk.