Standing By in George Bush International Airport

Terminal? So it would seem, in B, in C
For fourteen hours, overnight, attempting
To lose consciousness on rows of seats
With arms, the arms to ward off sleepers,
Dozing upright until someone's booming
Voice reminds us scattered vagrants to be
Vigilant. A terrorist could come to call, and
Saddle us with lethal cargo. I think,
Jesus, let him come. A bomb could not
Be worse than this. The food stands shut
Down hours ago. My stomach hurts.
I'd like a drink. I cannot shower, can't
Think clearly. Sitting on the baggage floor,
Beside a door which lets me out to smoke,
And in again to fume, at dawn, I'll go to
Get inspected, find my gate and wait to see
If, this time, I'll be taken home. I have my
Doubts. The plane is full. I'll end up still
Imprisoned here, my sentence terminal.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 82 times
Written on 2014-03-02 at 12:28

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