To the Chambers Street Station: A Modern Odyssey

Issue 7, Volume 112

By Eshaal Ubaid 

Our hero races down the hall

Much to the bystanding couple’s dismay

He pushes them straight into a wall

Running on, praying for a train delay.

His locker remains neglected

Hanging open, lock exposed.

If comes a thief, as suspected

His loss will have been self-imposed

A trip here, a collision there

He speeds down several escalators

The smell of freedom fills the air

Refreshed, he makes a bolt for Chambers

The poor freshman who gets overrun

And the McDonalds that glistens bright

The SciOly team, incapable of having fun

All stand frozen on this Monday night.

Yet this student can no longer be still

For he snoozed long past his due

“I have at least 30 minutes until

the LIRR,” he said, in a joyful mood.

His alarm may have failed him

His actions weren’t noble

The only thought that strikes him,

“I should have slept in global.”

With eight minutes to spare in theory,

And 11 minutes left of commute,

This brave young soul feels an eerie

Sense of dread—this fiasco isn’t cute.

Jumping over the rails of the stairs,

And failing to swipe three times,

Our hero somersaults into the musty air

Of a 2 train car, committing many crimes

A tall fellow conveniently blocking

The entrance to the great land of Penn

Our hero scooches to the framing

Of doors, ready to crush him there and then.

Three minutes till the train and two to get there

Our hero is sweaty and pale

No time for rest, his dignity lays bare

Catching his breath like a beached whale

Ding go the doors

Success has nearly been reached!

Hallelujah! he nearly kisses the floors

But salvation is hardly within his reach.

Run again, run again, read the sign

Out of the way, tourist!

Is it platform 20 or 21 this time?

Not now, subway purist!

Sprinting like the track team,

Mustering all his courage, he leaps in!

A click resonates behind him

He’s done it, thanks to the power within.

An exhale of relief

When he finds a seat, he sighs with ease

Alas, his joy is brief

For the conductor goes, “ticket please?”

All beasts have been slain!

This is truly the final stretch!

Suffer not, this pain

Or be made the veriest wretch

But every pocket bare

The mood suddenly somber

His ticket isn’t there.

He left it in his locker.