My Commute

Blurred photograph of New York City subway

by Layla Barrett

Crack-infused weed filling the air

Along with despair.

Slowly frying minds of the poverty line

Turning them into junkies.

On 42nd street that’s where they be.

If you take the E, the more you see.

Smell of piss and shit, burnt coffee, New York Times. 

Women and children on trains selling sweets

Anything to help make ends meet.

Playing music that is heard between transfers

Boomers and banters

“Showtime dancers.”

The underground transportation where you don’t say shit.

“If you see something, say something.”

Fuck it, we mind our business

However, still pay attention and just move accordingly.

At the end of the day, we always have a place to be.

You hit Sutphin and Archer.

Soon as you get above on the street,

Hear za, Good Weed.

As soon as you hit the blocks 

You gonna see the cops, still be able to cop.

But go around the corner if you need a rock.

You know the corner by the dollar cab filled block.

Go ahead it’s cheap, just remember you try it once 

You will be back, so don’t be shocked.

They don’t just take cash, they also take your mom’s watch.

On the next corner across

Is a pizza shop or a get a chop cheese from the Ock.

Might see a fight, hopefully a quiet night.

Just get on the bus and you will be alright.

When you get off, make sure to walk under street lights.

Always remember to hold your bag tight.