Last Leg

Drunk already, on the plane, thirty
Hours stuck on standby done. At
Last, I'm going home. The flight
Attendant does her spiel. Cinch up
Your seat belt. Be aware that, if the
Plane comes down on water, your
Seat cushion can be used to keep
Your shattered soul afloat. Who
Knows? Someone may rescue you.
She's older, none is young these
Days, but has a sort of careworn
Beauty. I would take her to a
Bar, a dreadful little airport
Lounge, if I was stuck again on
Standby. I am not. She wears
A ring. I smile. I want a vodka
Tonic. She's impassive as she
Serves. I'm drunk. I'm getting
Sober fast, and sense she has no
Use for me. I close my eyes and fall
Asleep. At least I'm going home.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 49 times
Written on 2016-06-06 at 00:43

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