Maneuver through the loitering lost— newbies confused by alphanumerics, offbeat buskers struggling with strings, cops unsure whether to serve or shoot the denizens of this mess. Make your way through the concourse maze of this Center City rail hub, or follow me, a random enough stranger, a trail pass carrying member. Follow me, avoid those who avoid this place, who arrive, find the nearest exit, walk topside into buildings or descend closer to connections instead of shuffling through the bustle, believing their route less clouded by weed smoke, less foully sauced. Follow me, my headphones professionally bulky, my tracks easing me through a tangle of migrations and hibernations, the tracks I came to after an inventor’s process of hypothesis and test, after discarding soothing classical for having no place in this retro hell, jumpy funk as the antithesis of stone-faced speed walking, punk for an aggression I had no time to work with. Tried and relegated these to other trips, choosing this for a discordance that matches the mix.
Seth Rosenman is a poet and teacher based in the Philadelphia area. Many of his poems are inspired by transportation. His work has appeared in Fleas on the Dog, Brush Talks, and Poetry Noir.
