[oats]

it's about time I give you the level of feed you so consistently give everyone else.

overall, I thought this was novel and well-described. The situation you detail is something universally appealing and immediately understood, but I can't recall coming across anything else that captured this kind of niche of modern living.

Crusted corners of eyes sweeping the room,
strained by the fluorescent lights' deepening gloom.
We're fucking glowing in sadness.
Track delay, explosive reactions,
with coffee and body odor corroding the transit.
And we're bundled.
It's cold outside. We're stuck in the sweat pit.
Funneling frustrations through each thrust at the exits.
The mad scramble.

I really loved this section. Now that I take a subway daily, I feel like I can appreciate how spot-on these descriptions were. Great setting of the stage

It's love at first neck twist.
She wore leather boots and kept her head down as she texted.
Avoid eye contact, part of the (dys)functional checklist,
along with keeping track of belonging,
but none of us should be here. We're passing along.
Vagabonds of the moment. Glum cast of despondents.

My one qualm/backhanded compliment: the phrase "love at first neck twist" is so good that I would have liked to see it built up to after the scene of seeing her is painted. It was almost a spoiler in that sense, whereas describing her before appearance and then calling it love at first neck twist may have been a better choice. As it stands, there's nothing that interferes with the piece or anything, just a note that stood out to me.

I do really like how you bounce between her appearance and swiveling to the survey the rest of the crowd. Makes it seem more genuine and less stalker/rape-ish. Like, if you were just glaring at this stranger and eyeballing her up and down, accounting for every detail, without retracting to the larger scene of waiting for a late train, it would be too intense for the moment imo. You also did well not to lose sight of Her in the masses, though. Thought that was a well-crafted direction.

She wore a winter hat, revealing a flash of her blond head.
Amanda. Might be her name. Looks like an Amanda.
The scrum reduces us to ticket numbers, turnstiles and bar scanners.
Book readers. Nook readers. Newspaper glancers.
With the turn of each page, no escape and no answers.

This had a crisp rhythm to it, almost jazzy. I like how this piece is not directly about the chick, but rather the haven from boredom she represents. For some reason Amanda makes me think brunette, but the sentiment is well-put.

The seats are padded, yet the backs jettison any attempt at rest.
Still Amanda coils her boots under her leggings to stretch.
We're two hours late, discussing the weather but stuck inside,
refreshing devices in hopes of finding another ride.
Security points. Don't pet the dogs. Please step up and right.

"Now boarding":

Amanda, my love,

good-bye.

You close it out nicely. the day goes on, and the momentary escape from being a bored flaneur speeds away.

There is very little to critique, and even less to dislike. This was a compact, self-contained verse that took place in the perfect window for it. It speaks to my sensibilities as a reader in that it takes a small moment and implies larger truths that stem from it; perhaps more suggestion would have been nice, but that's just tacking some shit on tbh. This was one of the finer pieces I've read from you.