10 April, 2010

Poem No. 14: Ruta No. 9

Things I find shocking, as I turn and bumble over cement which sits uneven on the Earth:
Everyone sits on the outside (aisle) seat.
(So now do I too?)
No one gives the aisle seat up.
(You can’t sit here!)

We turn.
(My head falters, sleep enters).

No comments: