By Aidan Chafe

On the
crowded train

A woman sitting
across from me

is wearing a
baseball cap

with the acronym
GAP.

(God. Answers.
Prayers.)

I explore the
imaginary theatre

of this scenario,
praying to have

mine answered.
Summoning his

spiritual highness
like a late night

drive thru genie,
wishing for that

hat to disappear.
Instead, a man
wearing spandex
appears, interjects,

his front bike tire
treading my bare

knee. I mutter
A curse mid prayer.

God misinterprets
the message.

The bike man
exits the train car.

The hat sits scoffingly
on her head.

I stare dejected
another five stops

before the woman
selects her divine

moment to leave.

Aidan Chafe writes poetry to experiment with perspective and to savor the beauty of language. His writing has appeared in “CV2” magazine. He lives in Vancouver, British Columbia.