'The Big City Reflected Upon By A Rural Boy' Poem by Micheal Valencia

See them all rush from the doors of the train,
They push in half-aggression trying to get where
they need to go, but no ill-will:
Some plod up the stairs, some move truckingly
into the street,
Some men move awkwardly, their heavy clumsy
strides make me laugh,
Some proceed in a lumbering mess:
Some women move gracefully, beautifully, their
litheness moves my insides bouncefully,
Some commence in vigilant self-consciousness.

The little girls hold their mommy’s hands, they
look confused:
They look like helpless casualties to the metro-
politan whirl.
They’re all caught up together so unavoidably,
but they’re all caught up in their own singular-
ity so automatically;
It’s funny how everybody has to fight for space
out here: Like you’ll lose room to move.
It’s new and it’s different, but I don’t hate it;
I think I can get used to this:
I’ll plod in my own trucking awkwardness soon.