My Seatmate
Most of the time, on a seat on a plane,
I say nothing to seatmates around me,
For people will sleep or will read or remain
Fully focused on screens that surround me.
Yet my neighbor today had been handed a card
For her birthday by one of the crew,
So my usual custom of quiet was jarred
And I wished her a happy day, too.
When the beverages came and I pulled from my bag
A croissant from my breakfast this morn
And I offered her half (just plain tea is a drag!),
A relationship somehow was born.
She’s the age of my son and her kids’ ages match
Pretty closely my grandkids’ as well.
Our religion’s the same and our politics, natch,
Seem aligned, far as I got to tell.
We talked work, we talked home and it turns out she writes –
Even poetry, what are the chances
Of connecting with someone like that? On most flights,
With my seatmates we hardly trade glances.
We shared numbers and names and she checked out my rhymes
As the plane travelled hundreds of miles
And no matter if there are additional times,
On this journey we shared lots of smiles.
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