Game

Every morning I take the cattle cars
Into the yellow city,
Past all the unsmiling faces,
Mirrors of infinite desperation,
Dulled by the numbness of indifference,
The midtown slaughterhouse is my destination,
The arena where gladiators in shabby suits
Perform for subsistence;
But yesterday it all seemed ludicrous to me,
And I bursted out laughing,
Right in the subway,
Suddenly everyone looked at me,
For I had violated the rules of the game,
The game?

Alfred Charasz
Copyright 2006 Alfred Charasz