Seoul Subway

Another day on the subway.
A man is selling something, but I
can’t tell what it is. It comes in multiple colors,
the size and shape of shotgun shells.
Some gentleman sitting down
asks to see it, asks the seller a question,
then gives the item back —
not interested. The seller
walks around, showing the item
to the various passengers, but no one
seems to be biting. Then, the man who looked at it
before motions with his hand,
and nods. He buys it. I still don’t know
what it is; perhaps it is
something to eat. And then there’s music
to the right of me (I am
seated along the side, facing the people
opposite me, and
the windows behind them), I see
a blind woman walking slowly down
the middle of the train,
around her neck a small midi-type
electric jukebox. The sound is tinny;
it can barely be called music.
But I reach for my wallet,
raising my butt off the seat for a second,
and I drop a spare bill
in her plastic collection bowl.
She passes on through. No one else gets up.
It will be a long ride. I take a nap.