Underground horse, I board you at Grand Central
and ride your steely body away from the city
with the other riders, the collared and collarless.
I prefer you expressly, at off-hours,
but I hang from your bars at peak times
and sway to your snorting music.
I lean in to your turns in dank tunnels
and hurtle with you through the darkness
for long stretches, between fitful stops.
I'm not pretending I never curse you
for rearing up between stations, breaking down
on Thursdays, or resting in your stable,
and yet you carry me faithfully to Atlantic
where I step across the gap onto firm shore
and climb your stairs into the bright air.