Over Texas


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

She’s blond

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…


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