it’s rush hour on line 10. i am leaning against the back door. a woman backs up in my direction to make room for the crush of people shuffling in, setting down bags, hands grasping for handlebars. the doors close.
her hair, highlighted and tied up into a ponytail, brushes up close to my face. it smells like shampoo. over her thin purple sweater, i can see her phone screen. she is going through english vocabulary flashcards. she has been staring at “spectacular” for a long time, thumb hovering over the green check mark.
two men sitting in the seats across from us are dozing off. one has a head of grey hair, the other a single strand. their bodies bow towards and away from each other, like swaying trees.
the woman is now looking at a list of words she keeps getting wrong.
govern.
malleability.
stout.
kerosene.
confess.
compress.
she starts a new test.
the older man leans a bit too far towards the other and jerks away, still asleep. the younger readjusts his body, eyes still closed. his head falls to his left. if they opened their eyes now, they’d be looking at each other.
hog maw 