Open doors, 42nd street- look- three
new passengers
juxtaposed to each other, they don't get much

attention.
silent, grave-faced 20-something
an acoustic guitar as run-down as he;
then, African-American, and rags, and smiles;
and one Robert De Niro, sunglasses
(though I found the car to be rather dim.)

20-something
leans against the door and plays
melancholy music, strumming
heart-filled notes, but nothing changes

(and no change.)
African-American
speaks of conspiracies and of God
and how those words are synonymous
no attention given-

still rags, but no smiles.
and De Niro
unnoticed, unrecognized

(sunglasses?)
takes a seat and looks
out the window, into the beautiful

tunnel.
and they get off together at west 4th
with nothing in common but a
used metro-card
destination
lack of spectators,

I chase after them



and give them all




quarters.