The L train. — Photo by Diego Cupolo

In the wake of the last weekend’s disruptions, and the L’s chronic failure in general, Kevin Armento has penned a poem about that fabled line that traverses North Brooklyn.

To speak of one you daily ride

Suggests a paramour

But wrongly so, if meant to mean

The L of Brooklyn lore

It is a train from east to west

Which moves below the ground

Sometimes it’s fast, but mostly not

Like when it’s broken down

From Lorimer, deboard the train

And don’t you make a fuss

Go with the crowd, up to the street

To wait for shuttle bus

Morning comes, and now the L

Is back to its full route

But what is this? A car is stalled?

Ok, no longer cute

Past Morgan Ave, and Grand, and Graham

Then Bedford, Brooklyn’s last

The car is crammed, no room to stand

And creepers grabbing ass

Last stop, the doors they open

In Manhattan, finally

And as lovers go, you start to think

Is this bitch riding me?

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