Her round, brown belly

I walk to the Bloor line. There's a handmade
BACK SOON sign at the wicket near the turnstiles.
I step through without paying. It reminds me of when
I first came to Toronto. How we crammed ourselves
through the turnstile, paying the one fare. I'm
wearing a good shirt and jacket, I know I look
respectable, I get respectable looks and that's
partly why I dont pay. To defy expectations
of civic duty. I take the Bloor line to
Yonge and then south. A woman gets on
and sits next to me. She doesnt have to,
there's lots of room. She wears pink
lipstick and jeans that are distressed. Her
knee bangs against my knee. Her
round, brown belly. She is twenty-four.
I can tell her age by the size of her head.
When I get off at Dundas, the subway train
accelerates and I see her face
staring at me, staring hard as she slips
away into the curve of the tunnel.