The Green Line, What a Show

I was over by Frogtown for a rental showing,
all green—a soil garden, a hill, and the smell
of rotten weeds—I wondered how they
smoked it… here, an old man & his shaggy

dog play. A few varied pedestrians followed
where I walked, and street signs shown old
with certain dull patina, the kind that screams:
forgotten. Victoria St. was vacant except

for a yellow bus near the Victorian Bar and
endless gravel alleyways and broken fences &
overgrown unkempt yards. Later, the station
was alive with families and strollers and trash

and invalid transfers hopefully left. Cozy in
our blue seats on this Green Line, big windows,
we rolled up to Snelling Avenue where a
woman with her luggage used the platform

as a toilet. She pulled at her pants—up over
her waste, grabbed her loose belongings and left.
I sat with the uttered guffawed-surprised sound
of some observant passenger directly in front

of me. He caught my wide-eyed stare, I had
to think before I went to words: what a show.

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