As I step in this subway car,
The cold already pierced,
From blistering gusts,
Not decked out for 10 below
Because I don’t know.
I’ve come from the west,
Where it’s warm sunsets.
A man comes to rap his single,
Off his album Make my Dream.
I push pause on my phone,
And can’t help but think…
Is he on SoundCloud?
Does he know of YouTube?
Will he recognize those are the ways,
To be discovered these days.
Maybe.
But it matters not.
For what matters most is the pursuit of his dreams,
To deliver those rhymes and melodies.
So to him, this was the start of it.
This was his dream.
Masterfully he delivers,
It’s a wonderful bit.
But how could I assist?
I can’t help,
I can’t make his dream.
He has no cards or CD’s.
It’s against the law he sings.
Can’t sell, only beg on NY subways.
So begging he does,
But there’s a better way.
We captivated listeners who paused our own tracks
Couldn’t give the song a like.
Couldn’t re-post, re-tweet or re-engage.
No way to find him, support him, join him.
Pennies, nickels, dimes he asks for.
And yet in today’s age,
Perhaps it should be likes shares and follows,
He should ask for.
This hustler continues performing his craft,
As the subway charges through the shaft.
And though his lyrics were over quickly,
You’d too give him respect
As he gives his best,
Fighting against gravity,
And society.
The competition of infinite distractions we hold,
Buried in code within each of our phones.
And yet, for now he’s won.
He deserves his due.
But the days of dimes and change in our pockets,
Are long gone from our wallets.
I shake my head sadly,
When he asks for money.
Not because he didn’t earn it,
I did want to give it,
But that currency I hadn’t one bit.
And before I had a chance to ask,
Where online were his tracks,
He disappeared into the next car,
Without the currency,
That could have taken him far.
His purpose is to spit verse to the world.
And one way or another,
He’ll make sure they all listen,
As I did.
It is a shame,
For we could help,
Could pay with social currency.
But it was not to be,
For that was not what was asked
Nor were we given an opportunity.
Dear subway singer,
What technology could do for you,
If only you knew.
But then again,
With that hustle behind those tunes,
I have no doubt,
He will find out.
“This stop is Penn Station…”
My stop, not his.
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