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In 30

Hopes and regrets My phone and late night cigarettes In 30 or 10 It's time to come in Set the alarm Head against the pillow Sleep comes Or

I spend the night worrying. Alarm rings It's morning Turn the lights on It's still dark outside Brew the coffee Drink while last-minute-packing Grab the luggage Call a rideshare In 30 we get there Have a conversation Just to get the body going Wave goodbye at the airport terminal Smoking Automatic glass doors Self-service kiosk Get the tickets Turn down the upgrades Stand in the line going all the way From security to baggage claim Chew some gum Pinch my index with my thumb It's too hard sometimes Stuck between waist-high bars and rope In a sea of folks Making eye contact Brushing up against bodies We're all travelers in purgatory At the podium Homeland scans my ID Does the double-take "Yup, that's me" Already took my belt off Unzipped my sweater Security becomes a highly choreographed dance And every time I only get better Some jerk slows up the process Misses the obvious I strike a pose They wave me through Or pull me over for bag inspection See if my books might be weapons They aren't A seat to put myself back together My keys And my wallet Chew more gum It snaps with the popping of the package Try to find the most isolated seat Encircle my luggage Fire up the laptop Connect to WiFi Jack the headphones in Some private time Watch the monitors I'm often one of the last to board the plane In no hurry for the walk of shame Have a seat Next to Babies or kids? Some sterling conversationalists? Who might I be trapped in this death can in the sky

For hours with? Take out my phone Turn it off Or into airplane mode Crack open a good old-fashioned paper book Read while we taxi Head against my seat when we takeoff

Hopes and regrets

Hour before we touchdown


A cigarette Sleep comes Or

I spend the next 30 minutes worrying.

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