Locking the golden dead-bolt,
I can’t help but think how soon
I will be turning it the opposite direction,
wearing the same wool black coat,
and return to the subway.

We all wear black pants,
a black shirt;
read the same “Welcome, you look
so nice when you smile” greeting
printed out
as we clock in,
each day,
we arrive
and we leave,
and the rumbles of the subway car
jostle my place on the page.