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On the C The brightmirage of a carefree day as the trolley barrels past potholes and specialty stores The teenagers dressed in a street style one reserved for Black kids chat to the soundtrack of of the trolley One boy with skin as black as night and a do-rag blacker snakes his arm around a girl whose Asian hair is stripped of pigment They all ignore the travelers worn down with grime and frequent stops Like a wide wide living room the tracks spread ahead through the underground up through the gentle curve bursting into the light and the doorways leading down newly freed of the bundle-freeze of winter's blast A bright mirage the sun calls and makes a giant nursery of the city where you wander in a suit of clothes as comfortable as pyjamas — Frances Donovan May 2003; June 2003
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