'sitting at gate 3'

- "sitting at gate 3" & so we begin again sans sufferin'... at the airport St.Louis wanders into the men's room as the chic man walks quickly past; woman with colorful socks; a black man walking past with purpose in step; the woman w/the colorful socks is walkin' cheerful with her latex gloves snap! on. also. what. s. this. but. the. balding businessy cellphoned scuttle[[[? man with high pants enters mensroom. woman with big lips, man with suspense or maybe just suspenders. can't we all just get along? what do you think...patriotic tie walks by. you think the flag painted tie will save you from a strip search, eh? ah. bah. couple, 3 bags and a pair of heels between them maybe a cashmere sweater here or there. o! lackadaisical air port day! therein is the attraction, the subtle rhythm-sway with which the woman walks... continue>>> man with comb-over... betrays his best intentions. (i'm no better, i sit crunching an anti-social apple, watching you) police officer in the broom closet. she takes her pills at the water fountain. captain capped man with lunchbox and high pants   floats past on cellphoney conversation. the chic man finally sits down,   St. Louis has relieved his bladder. now everything seems clear.  lady sits and swears 'out of the jungle!!' while Knopf haunts me from a far and fairing angle. we assemble in the tin can to play our roles: the weary travelers. we are: businesstrip-luncheon-visit-family-or-expulsion sitting besides: witness-hit-reduction-fanny-pack-convulsion who is across the aisle from: sickness-crust-auction-on-a-trembling-foreign-induction and quickness-wit-instruction-of-a-hapless-twit-brained-suction . . . . . we fill up, crowd in, stack on. and keep our seatbelts on at all times. for the speed forces our bodies back, take heed, we are more alike than we are different as we overcome our own stupid inertia, we overcome our image, we overcome the air. ---just an airport pome-sketch. Written March 25th, 2002 © on Mar 25 2002 12:09 PM PST   10 • 0 • 9