In the petri dish
Of economy class
A woman sleeps sick
Next to me
Unaware of the Charles Simic poems I’ve read
Or how out of
The corner of my eye
I watch her breast heave and sigh
Fat hands coupled over the slack buckle
A scarf covering her mouth like a fashionable thief
But heavier than I like
What is that warmth like?
Like a child sent to bed with a fever?
I’ll never know…
We land in Houston in twenty minutes…