A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
If only it had a slightly better map
the New York subway would be like London’s tube—
the more you do a thing the less it scares you.
The babies in their strollers are not scared
of the New York subway. Like London’s tube,
I try not to stare at either of the couples kissing—
the babies in their strollers are not. Scared
tourists jab their fingers at subway signs;
I try not to stare. Neither of the couples kissing
looks up: they might as well be on their own.
Tourists jab their fingers. The subway signs
make perfect sense if you read them properly,
looking up. I might as well be on my own
as surrounded by this world of strangers,
which makes sense. If you read properly,
you can find out anything you need to know.
I am surrounded by a world of strangeness—
if only it had a slightly better map,
I could find out anything I needed to know.
The more you do a thing the less it scares you.
Anna Evans, is the editor of The Raintown Review and of the formal poetry e-zine The Barefoot Muse. She is the author of two poetry chapbooks, Swimming and Selected Sonnets, both published by Maverick Duck Press.