An Ode to My Commute

“I will send you the link as soon as I boot up,”
I email on my phone,
then hurry

to get the bed made and carry the laptop
to the sun porch
where I can see the draws
on the ridge beyond the valley
still outlined in white by snow.

I remember
the long march of suits to the subway, the laptop
heavy in its vinyl case.

The platform black with a century of grime, the lights
dim yet harsh in the early morning as the train
rumbled in.

Standing shoulder to shoulder as it lurched.

The lockstep tramp up
stairs, the hike across the lobby through that
ant-like swarm – how did we never collide? – toward
the coffee
stand.
Careful not to spill as I hurry
not to miss the 8:10.

Gazing at the ranks of buildings as the train
(or they)
sped by.

The hike to the old beater in that parking lot

and then
that brief journey through a tunnel
of trees.

That other parking lot.

Returning later, tired.
Still that heavy laptop.
Watching the train loom large toward me on the open-air track
Careful not to trip.
Wondering what would happen if I did.

Then sit. Breathe.

Read, maybe, or just be
weary.
Relax an hour before

that subway crush again. That twice as long trudge homeward.

Dinner.

Bed.

Being more productive starts with finding time to do nothing
professed the Wall Street Journal on Tuesday.

I work all day, I tell myself. Do I ever have time do nothing?

I ask again later as I stroll
with the dog
along the river,

the ducks
taking issue with our presence,

the buds
waiting to burst from the willows.

Yes.

© Lois Wingerson, 2021

Thanks for reading!

You can see every new entry of Living Dubois by email if you sign up at the top of the right column at www.livingdubois.com.

Who’s writing? Check outAbout Me.