Who Smells On This Subway Train? (A Love Poem)

Holy fuck.
Who smells on this subway train?
(it's not me, is it?)
A medley of mothballs, B.O. and urine
An odious concoction.

Jesus.
Look at these people.
Does anyone shower anymore?
This guy with the dandruff
Falling like dead confetti
That girl with the hairy boil growing out of her neck

(what the fuck is that thing - it looks like a fist).

Who's hand is that feeling my ass?
Goddammit, where's my wallet?
Can't this asshole give me some room to breathe?
Which would only yield me back to...

Who fucking smells on this subway train?

I often get on the subway and think to myself:
What dormant pool of Darwinian human waste did these pre-evolutionary slugs crawl their way out of?

Then I get to my stop and I'm okay again.