I’m ashamed and I’m proud of it.
Underground, trapped in an all night
movie marathon, we tuck ourselves in.
Nothing runs past midnight,
no one drinks just one. No one comes.
The opposite train pulls past, flashes
a fat cake in someone’s arms,
a black bag of crumpled cans,
a Mormon brochure in a back pocket,
and is gone.
It’s pouring at the School of Management.
Slick rips of tires rolling through.
I’m rained out. Tear along the edge
and duplicate and tack to every pole and
call: tell them all, get out, get out.