poetry

closing up shop

closing up shop

first they lock away the luxury goods –
alpaca fine knits
the real jewelry
and fancy watches –
things that might be worth smashing for

then they put up whatever barriers
they can afford –
a web of packing tape at Sunglass Hut
metal grille at Hugo Boss
clear plastic sheeting pieced together with tape at Coolbox
cerrado

the restaurants serve up whatever’s left –
3 dishes at the TGI Fridays:
babyback ribs
chicken-fried chicken
or Bucket of Bones,
all with mashed potatoes only

but these privations are so trivial
up here in the departures lounge
placidly sailing above the ticket counter chaos
out of sight far below
jammed with people who woke this morning
to learn the window for leaving had shut
each trying desperately to pry it open
just wide enough to slip through

poetry

flight to Christchurch

flight to Christchurch

without asking
the friendly flight attendant
turns off my light
and puts me to bed

all I can do as we wing our way to
this land of crinkled cliffs
and warm woolly flesh
is scribble work hard and rest
before the scene goes grey
with the gift of sleep

poetry

ceding control

ceding control

illness imposes humility
the mortification of being reduced to
one’s bodily functions
malfunctioning
in public

unconcerned with politeness
the body has its way with one
does all manner of offensive things
and past the point of social graces
we surrender without shame
relieved by mere survival

poetry

manufacturing nature

manufacturing nature

it is necessary
Singaporeans feel
to move water from the sea
stack it in a column
high in the air
then let it thunder down
into a vortex
ringed by Burger Kings
and Prada shops
and to build grotesque metal trees
with flashing lights
broadcasting Disney show tunes

poetry

the quiet lounge, DXB

the quiet lounge, DXB

sometimes it’s like stumbling on
the free quiet lounge –
a calm room filled with recliners
(many unoccupied) –
right before you settle for
cold hard airport floor;
ask and
(sometimes)
faith answers

poetry

Terminal 5

Terminal 5

at Gate K20
we queue for the transfer bus
to Terminal 5
thrilled to feel
a bit out of our element

women with headscarves and saris
men with gold chains and mustaches
the airport employee asks loudly
Does anyone here speak Arabic?
and hands shoot up

on the bus women wear
great spangled tents of cloth
I haven’t learned a name for
and we are off to see
another bit of the world