“Please Hold the Doors” by Jonathan Greenhause

The sign says Do not hold doors,   but sometimes
I’m 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   we’d be nothing;   without this crust & mantle
we’d freefall to the Earth’s core   & be vaporized by its liquid magma.
& so I’d 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 conductor’s cabin   is sealed shut,
& I’m surrounded by commuters   who are all like me   & all different;

& I’d sacrifice my life for them,   giving everything
to ensure their survival in these dark tunnels   between these places we go.
& if I saw something,   I’d say something;
I’d leap upon any suspicious package   until the police arrived,
& even if they institutionalized me,   I’d thank them for saving my life,
& I’d name my firstborn   after their collective names,
praising whatever made this all,   & I’d laugh,

knowing nothing’s sacred   unless you know   sooner or later, it’ll all be lost.

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Image: “Immerse Reverberator,” from Buddy Beaudoin’s Pedalsmut Series