I keep seeing older versions of me on the subway A nicer coat with a brand that I’m clueless to A streak of gray overcutting eyes that aren’t concerned I whittled the minutes Thinking of the next Peeling them away Putting them to rest Flower petals on the well-lit floor Lightly bucking with the tunnels And didn’t see the young man Pick one up and compare It to his own smooth fingernails.
When I Get Home 