I turned seventeen on a subway.

I turned 17 on a subway
as the tracks clatter beneath me
and I crawl closer to
home without moving an
inch.
The species of new york
sleep and listen to their ipods beside me.
Nothing reminds me of the monotony
of routine quite like the subway
commute.
People exist in their minds as their
bodies occupy the germ ridden seats
the rats scurry as if knowing
there is no life here.

I hope the way you turn the clock
at midnight on the day you
were born
seventeen years later
doesn't cast a shadow
on the coming year.