It’s you and me standing on the edge between two subway cars riding the seven line hands holding the rails facing each other on our way to a Mets game our faces are pressed into the afternoon hair waving watching the city pass us by with smiles unsure what the next stop is happy not knowing where the cops are stationed since we are committed to acts of violence against deadened hearts; our eyes catch the gaze of children moving the opposite direction we are role models in our histrionic display of true affection now you’re screaming fair play every strike every swing I’m in your line of fire even the moths don’t know the difference between the stadium lights that frame our smiles and the rising flame between a home run and a kiss what was once a bubble is now the whole of the crowd this game is us swinging keeping time at bay