Quoting Auden

He has his routine down, this artist awaiting the A train.

As the train plows into the station, he readies his ramp

Doors open, people pile off at 59th Street

Single minded, he minds the gap, placing the ramp between station and train car.

Some boarding passengers slip around him –

He is oblivious as he shoves his art cart onto the train.

It flies through the entrance, like a chariot

Entering behind, he flips the ramp up with his foot just as the doors are closing.

Easels, spattered canvases, brushes, a palette with layers of embedded paint

All have a place….little jars, some wooden cigar boxes holding the artistic accoutrements of a painter.

He pokes his balding head into the center of the cart to make sure all supplies have survived their underground journey so far, tightening a lashing here and there with white paint covered hands.

As I stare at the holes in his jacket I wonder how he sees the world……

Blurs and gashes of color?

Or small dapples of paint that when seen from a distance recreate a Central Park tableau?

Curious, I move around, to the front of his cart

Not an easy thing, since it blocks the entire horizontal walkway in the subway car

I gasp as I come around the corner.

The painter turns to me from his crouched position within the cart, his milky blue eyes unblinking

And murmurs “Crucifixions are not fashionable these days,”

A triptych of Golgotha – Jesus flanked by the two thieves

Glistening with suffering and sorrow, rendered in ashen tones

Passengers press towards the door as the train approaches 125th, anxious to be first off the train and up the stairs to win the race.

Looking around he whispers,

“About suffering they were never wrong,

The Old Masters;”

People surge urgently forward in both directions as the subway car doors open.