Guardians

In the early evening in New York City,

I walked into a tin can subway train

from Washington Heights station infested with mice,

pulled out my MacBook, and start typing away my research paper.

My concentration was broken only

when three convivial middle aged Black joggers entered the same car.

In between giggles of two women, the Black man said —

“Whew, did not know this neighborhood that safe!”

And each set in a respective seats that formed a triangle around me.

Proud, dignified, exhuming adrenergic from a recent run,

they laughed and chatted like a clear-day sunlight.

Among them in my feigned naïveté and gravitas, I basked in their magnificence.

As the train rumbled through into the Downtown New York,

People started coming in — armored in Patagonia vests, Theory coats, and On sneakers.

As the chirping of young, flush, White professionals, lauding their inebriated blindness grew louder

the three gradually became mum, withering into three tree branches.

Soon, the quietly exited the car.

I left the roaring subway car after a couple stops.

Their story had smeared on my heart

And I knew I would remember them for a long time,

keeping their secret to myself.

4.21.2026