The Boy with an Afro

The rear door of the subway slams open and he enters with a wail.

On cue all eyes dip to laps, or look straight ahead.

He gestures with his hands and I ignore him and look when he passes, because I'm a coward.

I see scars on his elbows, on arms I thought swollen with muscle, but' are just normal.

I see his mouth and eyes both twisted with sadness, his hands twitching not from drugs, but with barely legible sign.

He achieves his goal, some passenger react and reach for their wallets while I make eye contact and smile.