Departure
We’re different and alike
all going somewhere, soon
to be strewn across the world.
Few of us are beautiful, I’m afraid but
my friends say my sight is out of sight
from these golden hazy days.
What is beauty even? though
I snap to. You are beautiful,
that is all I know and all
in my dreams.
Strangers hardly speak to each other
the we-are-animals visible like never before
all foraging for a place to go home.
Is it in our nature to say nothing?
to be aloof, yes
especially here on these teal plastic seats
sticky from the yeasty heat.
I have so many questions and
too few answers before I go.
* * * * *
Terminus
A motherly woman
passing terminus time
an adult novel in hand
KEN FOLLETT
in letters offensive as these.
To Milan, a hungry looking girl
dark-eyed, shifty, mousy
so hungry looking it’s savage
windy hair done right
just like she was taught.
Sharp dressed Italians
wearing flat foot bottoms
husbands in tucked-in v-necks
shaded in their shades™
indoors before the gate
but it’s dark outside too
Here again, we must assume Milan.
Fresh from Duty Free
bag of booze in hand
dressed like a businessman
surreal on a Sunday
as is the likeness of tint
from leather briefcase
to leather shoes.
Some really terrible looking pajama girls
next to a man who says terrorist
heads turn to the turban
we must assume London (it is the only other stop)
then off to America.
And all other sorts of characters
passing along and around
like a parade
going somewhere soon
to be strewn
across the world.
