Correction appended

Red Line Dream
by Eric Felland

On the Red Line, going south, I
looked out the window to see for myself
the state of the world just beyond —
a world often noted offhand
to be one which is real

It looked rather nice, depending on where
you could stand, or sit
or who might lend you a hand

The streets were all straight, the lights
mostly on, the buses
all seemed to be running on time
unless they weren’t, in which case
it’d be hell if you had somewhere to be
and nobody to tell the boss that
shit happens out there
so calm down

We roared past the walkups so close
to the tracks you could step out
the window to catch the next train.
On third-floor wood stairways were laid
welcome mats by doubtfully
faceless folks watching TV.

They go to church and the
grocery store and DVD rentals are
quite cost effective.
Grown-up children are out to get high while
somebody somewhere is wondering why
and everyone else is grumbling and
trying to get by.

In rooms past curtains that block the arc flashes
the train’s vibrations drown out the mundane
sounds of microwaves dinging
and off-key singing, some clarinet playing
and boisterous love-making
and screams of frustration at all the damn noise

(The “H” in Chicago was broken on the neon sign at Wrigley
and the pharmacy covers Medicare part “D”)

In the road below an aging free-
spirit man with long hair and a fast-
burning cigarette in one hand carries
in the other a single rose for a
Valentine’s sweetheart;
he lopes, a leather jacket and
denim jeans past the liquor store
spilling pallid green fluorescent light
into the street, defying the night
and sinful thieves.

Radio speakers spit sick beats
windows rolled down to catch the
breeze even though it’s only 30
degrees / Driver speeds like a demon,
got somewhere to be, nowhere to
go, horns honk exasperated
traffic sliding slow

Out in the city just beyond, I think
there is (perhaps dejected) someone
who will change the world someday
(though no one would ever have guessed it).
Maybe I’ve seen the place they call home
from the elevated subway and could
never suspect how I might love or admire
the hero who’s coming from there.

It might be a leader who’ll save our land,
a lover dancing on the sand,
a teacher for truth, a curious mind
or radical thinker or cabaret singer
or just the one crucially friendly neighbor
to help us as we draw toward death
to pass the precious waning time.

For the moment I’ll just go downtown
every once in a while and
anxiously hope that I don’t get mugged,
while everyone else just trying to get home
clutching bags of Doritos or on the phone
looks back at me, that dude in the hat
staring out at the rooftops
and prays he’s not on a mission
from God with a gun.

April 6, 7:01 p.m.:The original photo that accompanied this article has been taken down due to licensing issues. Thanks to commenter Paul Germanos for the correction.