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A poem about little Bart moments

I wonder if there is a person in Tokyo  as squished as me right now
Writing poems about his Neighboor passenger
She is writing a text to someone who’s name starts with an L
She wants to know if they will go to a queer dance party 
He looks over a second later and sees that she is listening to Regina Spector
I tried to run and catch a train today but it wasn’t my legs that failed me 
Ten minutes late and crowded as a neandtathals armpit
And just as sweaty 
It feels almost like the concert last night 
Perspiring bodies smushed together like sardines
Except everyone is playing their own music 
No one is passing dab pens around 
And we all just want to leave 
Yet the looking game is played 
1,2,3...and he looks away 
Why was he staring in the first place 
But the Bart cars have windows that always make people look better in the sunset 
So I guess there is always that 
Can’t say I have helped 
I had to pee so bad the other day I squat down at the muni platform 
A little hidden 
And there was even a bathroom right next to me 
It was fenced off and labeled ladies so I guess I truly had no place to pee
And people still wonder why stations smell bad? 

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