
The sign says Do not hold doors, but sometimes
Iām overcome by my desire to hold them, some inexplicable love
for the way they automatically open & close,
these metal & glass subway cars devouring their temporary inhabitants
without asking anything in return;
sometimes I want to kiss the floor & bless it with every benediction,
my lips pressed against congealed coffee stains & chewing gum
because without this floor weād be nothing; without this crust & mantle
weād freefall to the Earthās core & be vaporized by its liquid magma.
& so Iād ask the conductor to marry me for having guided us
safely beneath this sea, going down on one knee
& telling him/her that he/she means everything to me;
but the conductorās cabin is sealed shut,
& Iām surrounded by commuters who are all like me & all different;
& Iād sacrifice my life for them, giving everything
to ensure their survival in these dark tunnels between these places we go.
& if I saw something, Iād say something;
Iād leap upon any suspicious package until the police arrived,
& even if they institutionalized me, Iād thank them for saving my life,
& Iād name my firstborn after their collective names,
praising whatever made this all, & Iād laugh,
knowing nothingās sacred unless you know sooner or later, itāll all be lost.

Jonathan Greenhause received a 2014Ā Willow ReviewĀ Award, wonĀ Prism Reviewās 2012-2013 Poetry Prize, and was a finalist inĀ The Southeast Reviewās 2013 Gearhart Poetry Contest. His poetry’s appeared or is forthcoming inĀ The Believer,Ā The Dark HorseĀ (UK),Ā The Malahat ReviewĀ (CAN),Ā Miramar Poetry Journal, andĀ New Millennium Writings, and he and his wife areĀ being raised by their 18-month-old, Benjamin Seneca. He also just finished reading the “Harry Potter” books and,Ā wow, are they great!
Image: “Immerse Reverberator,” from Buddy Beaudoin’s Pedalsmut Series