THE MAN IN THE BOOTH IN THE MIDTOWN TUNNEL

As a kid I always wondered about the man in the small booth in the middle of the Midtown Tunnel; the tunnel that goes from Queens to Manhattan.

The cars stream
under a frozen
catatonic
East River.
And the man
in the booth
paces the perimeter
of his cage.

He fumes
with the fumes.
And feels
the river's pressure
above his head.
And he has
lost his face

long ago--in a blue
uniform.
And the sun
and the fresh air,
merely a hint.

And we are
faceless and
a blur
behind thick plates
of light-bleached glass.
And we will
all remain
ignorant
of each other.

And there is
no light
at the
end of
the Midtown
Tunnel.

© DOUG HOLDER