Music of the train stimiulates my thoughts,

that is when I bring my doctor goggles out

Through these eyes, the passengers transform,

from commuters with agendas, to creatures one by one.

In blue suits and spring dresses, these animals try to hide

their sorrows, their pains, their problems crushed inside.

“Don’t try to fool me,” I scream without sound

I’ve seen one just like you, this morning, at rounds.

“It all starts quite simply, ‘just a cough,’ ‘just a cold,’

but ends with pure suffering as the story unfolds.

“Take the boy, little John, who pees in his bed.

He sees his momma get hit, ‘she deserved it,’ daddy said.

“Is there a John out there, or can I find a Celeste

a 78-year-old white female with bruises on her chest.

“Or are you more like Mrs. Peters, the widow who cries

‘My husband killed himself…the fault is all mine.’

“Or the 16-year-old female, pregnant, and by herself

the boyfriend stuck in jail, his wife pregnant as well.”

The train drums on, the bodies change seats

each one giving a hint to what is going on underneath.

With blood-shot eyes or a fidgety move,

that one’s a drunk, the other possibly too.

This one prefers drugs, the other his work,

the lady at the door, her trapezius hurts.

My stop has come, and I get up to leave

the lady with ankle edema has the same stop as me.

I hear a voice in my head, like the schizos do,

“Take the goggles off, don’t bring them home with you.”