q train poem by alina pleskova

My favorite New York
pastime is sobbing
 
You do it on the way
like everything else
 
Like everything else,
nobody double-takes
 
Small relief to be translucent
w/o repercussion
 
Slacken responsibility
for The State of Things
​
Headphones so I can't say
what it sounds like​
 
Styrofoam container
between knees
 
29 ​soon & as this​ ​year​,
the year ​​before​,​ going back

to ​when I​ ​thought it would
kick in, but no–

I’ll not have learned how
to still myself
 
A​lmost never take home
strangers​ now​

In place of their predictable
& idyllic demands, I wonder

how many more Real Loves
I’ll​ ​cycle thru

Or​ as Tom Waits put it,​ who you
wanna go in the woods with​

Even when I get off, the shudder
feels hostile
 
Can’t make the erotic subtle
or write one graceful poem​

Inner monologue dubbed
by fortune cookies
 
It may be time to explore new ways
of regaining balance
 
​Aberrant December​ lets us feel okay
longer, but not without guilt
 
Today felt too fragile for strategizing
&/or engagement &/or collaboration
 
&/or proving my value to “our” stakeholders
So called out, wore leggings that made

my ass look, excuse me, pretty fucking great
& paid off some but not all my bills

& basked in the unnatural warmth
of our dying planet
 
It felt, excuse me,
pretty fucking great
 
But I’ve just ​​circled back
to mama’s years-old advice–
 
You can’t sit on two chairs ​
c​omfortably at once
 
So let’s cry about it
even though this is ​​no time

for​ ​consolidating the​ ​tattered
concept of monogamy
 
Glittery​ teardrop settled​ ​​
atop​​​ ​my blinchiki
 
Lonesome traveler
rattling w/ the Q
 
As it shoots toward
skyline, river-glint,
 
The deepspace
of what else 

✱✱✱

Alina Pleskova lives in Philly & strives to maintain optimum chill. She is coeditor of bedfellows, a literary magazine focused on sex/desire/intimacy, & cohost of Poetry Jawns, a podcast. Recent work can be found in Public Pool, Queen Mob's Tea House, and littletell. Her internet double is here.