Wednesday I took the train into New York City from Princeton, to hang out with high-school classmate Kyle. En route, I was inspired by a fluttering black curtain to write this mediocre draft of a poem, which for reasons of timeliness I'm releasing before the usual long period of disgust, revision, and eventual acceptance.

Eurydice, New Jersey Transit

Sliding past the train window, these ruined cities. Graffiti, piled husks of cars, and broken-windowed warehouses.

In dilapidated office towers, the myth of American capitalism repopulated by sad, airless apartments.

In the seat ahead, a pretty girl reads a magazine.

Its sunny, hopeful pages reflect in the window below her sweetly curved lips and pensively set teeth.

From a window in Newark, Cerberus strains at his chains like a black curtain in summer breeze and the angular light of sunset.

Dusk, and then the darkness of the tunnel.

An infernal heat clings to the subterranean tracks as we disembark.

On the escalator, I look back to see her behind me, in a cloud of wandering souls on the dim, receding platform.

By the time I smile, she is not there to see.