Drunk expat walks off
the metro platform.
At last relaxed, he falls
awakened only by the loss
of ground to sleep walk on.
Dazed, strangers are yelling,
pulling him up to safety
and more gestures
pointing to the escalator exit up.
While ascending to Charles Square
the Saturday morning metro arrives.
I wander towards Angel district
and its three story mall,
the free bathroom on the second floor,
to wash the rail grease from my face,
and look dismally at the rips
in my Offspring t-shirt.
That day I realized
When I die, it will be some way
similar, just as stupid
(a public inconvenience maybe).
Last time I was early, but next time
I will not be late.
The newspaper would read,
“John White, an American in Prague, died last night
in Peace Square underground metro station.
He was catching the metro home.
It hit him in the face.”