49
Pride Weekend 2016
The city is wet with summer.
Waiting on the train platform,
I try to enjoy the band
lumbering through
a pop tune I don't like.
They have a chalkboard
that reads "Collecting cash
for our Orlando friends"
propped in front of the guitar case.
I check the time—
the L train swallowed by Brooklyn again—
as the guitar player strikes the right chord
and lights my spine on fire.
Has this city changed me?
Have I weathered
into a stronger animal?
The singer shouts, "Pray for us"
and I think she means it.
In a summer like this,
we could all use some hope.