Long Haul
After 5 hours of flying and sitting
we display an assorted redundancy
a sanctioned paraphernalia.
Rumpled files of sartorial inelegance
squeezed shoulder to shoulder.
A night flight,
the tube is wheezing tainted air.
We are a junkyard for travelers
moving not by our own motion
but brought together in economy class
because we are all out of other options.
The French have terms
for these sleeping arrangements:
'Maisones de flop', or 'asiles de nuit'
only we are airborne,
we sleep with our eyes open
aching to be somewhere
before a threadbare daylight exposes
us to our own bleary inspection.
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