The apocalypse referred to in the title of the book may indeed be upon us, but Waldman is keeping these shopping lists, showing us ways out, giving us hope, allowing us to live inside the poems for their duration on the page, taking us by the collar, and making us listen. Listen close.
Take the “A” Train
From West 4th, shot out with so much promise
thrust through unseen Manhattan schist
wheels shoot sparks scurry rats
Car’s rhythmic throbs of hypnotic whish
mutate as they bend on ancient downtown curves
become screeds of friction track shouts,
overamped dog whistles we pretend not heard
SCReech… SCREECH
back to straightaway train returns
Faster, faster, faster
stop skipped after stop…
Fantastic it’s an Express
you think… Brooklyn must arrive in no time!
We approach the river, or maybe as we go under
speed subtly diminishes then slowly stops
Perhaps, the act of going underwater requires caution
Perhaps, it’s something worse.
Look around—you’re not alone here
not as much alone as you believe
In this crowded home of immigrants
many chose in hopes of getting somewhere better
sit together in the damp, dark, nowhere tunnel
while car lights flash off and on and off
too cold in summer, hot in winter
Eyelids heavy your mind darkens as if
a gauze blanket thrown over head
your vision blurs
the whole sense of… arrival
becomes more abstract.
Where are we going
on this ride that never seems to end
do you really know?
The Final Station always a bit further
trapped in Zeno’s paradox
the distances divide in half
then divide in half again
again, and again, the two points never touch
get only incrementally closer
our stops always just out of reach.
Shopping Lists for the Apocalypse by Harvey Waldman is available to pre-order now in paperback.
