The speaker rides a packed subway train deep beneath the city, where the air is stale, heavy, and cut by fans. Even the wind feels imprisoned, moaning for open spaces. Pale-faced children move toward the doors hoping for fresh air, but their laughter is lost in the roar of the train. From that suffocating scene, the poem escapes into a daydream of the Caribbean: sleepy waters, schooners, wheeling gulls, palm-covered islands, and warm trade winds. The contrast makes the city feel like a gray, artificial gut, while the islands seem effortless, fragrant, and free. The mood shifts from claustrophobia and weariness to longing and gentle release. McKay voices a deep homesickness—not just for a place, but for air that moves freely and a life not buried underground.
Subway Wind — Summary
Far down, down through the city’s great, gaunt gut The gray train rushing bears the weary wind; In the packed cars the fans the crowd’s breath cut, Leaving the sick and heavy air behind. And pale-cheeked children seek the upper door To give their summer jackets to the breeze; Their laugh is swallowed in the deafening roar Of captive wind that moans for fields and seas; Seas cooling warm where native schooners drift Through sleepy waters, while gulls wheel and sweep, Waiting for windy waves the keels to lift Lightly among the islands of the deep; Islands of lofty palm trees blooming white That lend their perfume to the tropic sea, Where fields lie idle in the dew drenched night, And the Trades float above them fresh and free.