In the Transit Authority

Like covered picures in a gallery,
a row of several vaguely-human shapes
make odd adjustments but are usually
as lifeless and immoveable as grapes
in some old still life; others cling to phones
and seem the more entitled to the space
they occupy with cocksure breath and bones;
for when they lean, it's with a certain grace
that says their poise is merely temporary,
like lines that hesitate before their ends,
as if to movement all were secondary:
the measure greater than the repetends.