riding the subway in Boston

Moving slow, side to side
then surging forward
in a rush.
My  head is briefly cradled against a
random man's shoulder,
his arm, stretched forward,
draped just above my own,
a false intimacy forced by
proximity and crush.
I face a seated woman
whose roots are reverting to
their origins.
Porter Square.
The elderly man next to her
rises and wades his way
to the exit leaving behind a newspaper
in his wake.
She pats the vacated seat beside her,
beckoning the man behind me.
Is he the one who left the
finger shaped bruises on her arm,
stark gray blue against her pale skin?
He takes the seat and now
it is her head cradled on his shoulder.
Harvard Square.
I gather my observations and assumptions
and exit the scene.