élan

the thing she noticed first was his feet
or more precisely, brightly patterned socks
knit with whimsical guitars;
and when their eyes did meet
across a crowded car of subway strangers
through sacks and satchels
with élan his face alit.
and she thought "maybe, this is it."
and when he rose at her same stop
her stomach did a little flop.
he followed her right up the stairs
as if they made a smiling pair
but then he turned,
the other stairwell toward...
another train for him to board.
oh, her little love had found its end.
her little story told to fend off
the particular loneliness only found
in the city, where anonymity
made by the thronging crowd
vibrant, brash, and loud
both empowers or belittles
based on as little as a mood
in which to revel or to brood.