bay area rapid transit
i have given a lot to bart, over all these years
at least $6.10 a day, five days a week, four weeks a month
my bodily fluids including some blood and barf
and something else
that’s harder to name
blood from the injury i sustained
in summer 2016
on the daly city station escalator
going up
i was wearing sandals
and cut the underneath of my big toe
and another time in october, a few years later
running into the station at 24th street
my train coming and i have to pee
when i slip on a wet escalator
in my brand new rain boots
and slice open my knee
on the sharp-toothed stair edge
my shins are scratched open
a dribble of blood runs down my leg
and fat red drops drip onto my green rain boot
i ask the station agent for a band aid
and stick it to the outside of my ripped stockings
and limp home
later i go to the emergency room, kaiser on geary
the nurses superglue my knee back together
they give me a tetanus shot
and an x-ray that cost $100
the whole time they called me sunshine
the first time i threw up on bart
i was nineteen with my boyfriend then
and i smoked too much weed at a punk show
at first at macarthur station i had the decency to leave the train
and barf on the platform
but i couldn’t hold it on the train anymore
and after a few more heaves
another passenger (or an angel)
made sure i was well enough
to go home with the guy i was with
he said he had little sisters
and would want someone
to keep an eye on them
another time i threw up on bart
i had spaghetti and wine for dinner
then beer
i threw up long, whole noodles
they squiggled around in my stomach liquid on the train floor
clayton looked down between his legs, shook his head at me
and suggested i chew my food a little more
once when i got on bart
i head to the next car
searching for an open seat
as i get to the doors at the end of the car,
and pull them open to the roaring sound of the tunnel
the screeching tracks and rushing wind
i look to my left
at the last backward facing row
to the man nodding off
when i see next to him ripped open
an orange garbage bag with the biohazard triangle
inside, a cornucopia of syringes
one still pricked in the crook of his arm
asleep
another time
i rode the escalator up
from the dark underground
to the bright light at the top
24th street
where a man’s passed out
splayed on the ground
his pants loose and no underwear
just the head of his soft pink penis
poking out
sleeping too
sometimes the trains have the sweaty penny smell of burnt foil
and they always smell like beer breath on the night of a hot day
especially if it’s a saturday or pride or st patricks day or stupid ass santa con
or after a warriors game when they won and all the passengers are happy
or after the opera or Hamilton and everyone is old
their pale white hands tightly roll their programs
and at glen park they all say goodbye
when i get on the train
i walk car to car to get a good seat
and through the door i see
the next car is empty
but when i slide the doors open
i realize why
as my eyes widen and squint
and my hair stands up
and i stop breathing
and close my nose
as i approach
the laying down, sleeping, stinking man
with little square feet so black with dirt
at first i thought they were shoes
and as i hold my breath
i make a wish
god bless him, get his rest
and i take a seat in the next car crowded
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