Two Sore Thumbs

I saw a man with just a torso
—no legs
—no penis
—no comfortable, pillowy butt
scoot by on a cushion with wheels.
I saw him. Everyone saw him. He saw us see him.
Finally blinking, a long-legged woman said to her son,
“It’s rude to stare.”

Airport Girls

It happens a thousand times:
I see a pretty pair of eyes,
walking briskly
waiting on the phone,
brushing hair aside,
I wonder where she’s going
before I forget her face.

Sometimes I want to meet her
here, now, but I suppose
a rose in any other terminal
would smell as sweet.

The Big Empty

I have extra space on this page, and lots of time.
I suppose I’ll replace both of thesewith tiny musings
and fill it with emptiness:

These people, tired and on their way,
probably think that it’s not about the destination
as much as it’s about the journey,
fast or slow, but on the way.
What they probably don’t know is, empty space fills their lives
when they’re waiting
still
for their flights to board.

The Mother’s Decree

The Mother’s Decree:
No, no, no!
You guys are separated,
no bickering, no arguing no complaining, no fighting.

If only it were so simple.

The Jabber and the Echo

At SEA/TAC under the jabber and the echo
I meet a couple checking their bags.
His name is Johnson,
they are my age, headed to Paris via L.A.
and that’s about all I know about them.

I order Americanized Japanese food
and repeat the mistake of forgetting a utensil at the counter,
searching the long echoing lobby for a niche alone
for too long.

I sit beside another couple,
they sit in an argument about financial responsibility.
His gray comb-over is sleek like the rainy Washington road outside,
and I wonder how many dead and split ends have brought them
here, to this debate, so far away from

Paris.