My Favourite Part of Toronto is the Subway

As the grey train dashes into Royal York,
the TTC man waves.
I step over the yellow lego platform edge
as the tinted windows clasp together.

The missed-the-train man waves.
I slump on my red velvet throne,
as tinted windows clasp together,
breathing in second-hand hemp,

while my throne’s
threading unknots my back.
I breathe in second-hand hemp.
The speckled floor’s like rural midnight,

carpeted threading unknots my back,
Sapiens slithers out my bag.
The speckled floor’s like rural midnight,
car gets more crowded by Runnymede:

sapiens slither by my bag
squeaking from their slushed Timberlands.
We get above-ground by Keele:
sun highlights my book,

squeaks from their slushed Timberlands,
lady mumbling on the speaker.
Sun-yellow pen highlights my book;
tunnel visioned reading.

Lady mumbles on the speaker
“Nowww arriving at Spahd tate, Spadina Station?”
I’m tunnel visioned on reading
even while wiggling through the crowd.