Near Gupo Station
Up at 3 A.M.
for an early train
drive down a street of young women
sitting in pink-lit windows
waiting for a college boy
or lonely husband
tired of varicose veins.
What one leans and whispers
to a co-worker
isn’t likely about positions
that feel good
if an old man gave a tip
or how many times a week
she lies watching ceiling stains of mold
waiting for the last heavy sigh
and collapse
into her slack arms.
Head tilted up, as if offering her throat
while watching TV above her window
perhaps she volunteers
to heat green tea.
—Ian Haight
This article appears in October 2016.
