An Ode to Men Who Refuse to Hold Onto the Subway Pole

By a (Love)Sick Passenger

Be still my heart!

/

I see you, standing there

with

your Goldman Sachs duffel

or your spotless Adidas sneakers

or your Patagonia fleece

or your Herschel backpack

or your Barbour coat

/

Standing there, feet planted firmly

on the filthy floor,

both hands occupied:

In your pockets

Holding your phone

Reading your book

/

I stand to the side,

Clutching the pole like a plebeian

Dumbstruck by you,

A Real Man™.

/

How do you stand

so strong,

firmly eschewing the pole?

Without the door to lean on?

Your power is overwhelming

Your form radiates confidence

/

I have a boyfriend,

but

I might make an exception

For you.

/

Oh! The train lurches

You stumble, briefly,

And so does my heart.

/

Other men stand in awe of you

Clinging to their poles for dear life

Ha! Weaklings.

They are not like you —

You are singular.

/

What mental fortitude

you must possess

To know you need no mere metal tube

To stand firm

In this reeling, underground hellscape

/

The train bucks again,

And you lose your balance,

Tumbling into the elderly woman

In the seat below you

/

But

as she levels you with a glare

and snaps, “Hold the pole, jackass”

and as passengers crane their necks

to see who fell:

/

The reality

is that I am the one who has fallen

For you.

//