Transit strike

I've written several poems about or inspired by the subway system. Riding in a sort of imaginary bubble, observing and eavesdropping, watching other travelers or just zoning out and staring at a poster or a bit of grafitti, dodging the crowds at rush hour, stopping to take in a few minutes of entertainment in the Concourse at Times Square Station, listening to the beggars with their pathetic stories or humorous approaches -- all infinitely inspiring. So will the lack of transit end up providing any inspiration? We'll see...

In 1966 I was living in the West Village and commuting to the Upper West Side. I had rides in the morning but I was on my own to get home. I hitched rides, feeling perfectly safe getting into cars with strangers because the traffic was crawling at such a slow pace that I could have easily jumped out of a car before any harm could have come to me. No one who offered me a ride was the least bit threatening or annoying or anything except helpful. Oddly, neither I nor a couple of my colleagues really remember much about the 1980 strike, perhaps because it came around Spring Vacation time. I do remember photos of the then new style of women in business suits with running shoes. But I don't remember any personal stories about how the situation affected me.

Now I am in a different situation. There are places I'd like to be able to get to, but nowhere I really have to get to. I spent much of today knitting a new sweater for the best-dressed baby in the world. Tomorrow I'll deliver a gift to the new daughter of one of my young friends and maybe I'll try to see the latest Harry Potter movie. All in all this strike so far is allowing me to be somewhat more self-indulgent than usual. We'll see how I feel as the days go by if this strike isn't settled soon.