New York Morning

by Eileen Brener

The deafening roar, the stairs hip-wrenching run,
a quick jump before slamming doors: I’m on the subway,
ready to demand hand-space on a greasy pole.

Over the sweaty scent of the squeezed and harried
float astonishing sounds—a flute’s mellow notes.
“Prelude to the Afternoon of a Faun” blesses our trip.

Straining over and around, I see him, the man
with the magic.  After the piece he passes his hat.
His audience, calm now and generous, comply.

As he moves towards me, I’m again amazed.
Stretched on his bare arms fiery dragons spit flames.
How many charms does a man require?

Eileen Brener started writing poetry a few semesters ago in Sarah White’s study group and couldn’t resist responding to the optional prompt given each week for a poem based on our class readings.