October Morning in Newark

Came out of the house on Jefferson Street
the October heatwave gone overnight,
replaced by drizzle,
the kind of cold that argues for a jacket.

I put the key in the lock, turn it and
make sure that it did lock, just to be sure,
head up the street,
past Our Lady of Fatima, not going in,
right on Ferry,
past the stores, the restaurants,
a few jack-o’-lanterns in front of a furniture store,
into a Brazilian café
for something to eat on the train.

Passengers, we got a stuck door,
we won’t be able to move momentarily,
the thick Jersey-accented driver said
after I boarded the train to Denville
from the other Newark station,
not Penn,
the one where trains head west.

Six New Jersey Transit staff
in matching uniforms
stand around
looking at each other, scratching
their collective heads
as one talks loudly
into his radio, staring at the broken door,
the rest of them looking serious.

The silver door grunts,
makes eerie scraping noises
and no one complains
until, finally, success.

The door closes,
and the train and I
pull away,

Broad Street Station.
I only notice it as we leave.