in transit

Well-fed, light-skinned people,
wrapped in the sweaters
of our success
bearing our
shapely black suitcases
red Eddie Bauer
backpacks.
We hold our
belongings carelessly,
we have all made it
through security, no
shifty eyes, itching
fingers here; everyone
is sleepy in the
indoor heat, the rock
of the silently rushing
train taking us to
N gates; plus! it is 10pm,
we are all in soft clothes,
subdued cheeks, preparing
for the redeye.
What is there
to worry about? It is
late, we will be asleep on
a Boeing 757 soon,
cuddled in the shadowy
nursery of the plane,
our individual
nightlights
winking on
and off in the warm,
rumbling darkness,
winking off,
on,
a whole wave of them off,
and finally at
5 in the morning ET
2 in the morning PST
one quiet light still glittering
on
over a bowed white head
an open page of a Tom
Clancy novel,
while a sleepy stewardess
shuffles down the aisle
touching the backs of our chairs.