It was a stormy January
at the Dallas FortWorth Airport
All I had was my luggage,
and my laptop of jinx
(That’s why I much prefer my PC)
Indeed, alas!
My flight to LA was canceled
I had to be re-booked quick;
as I urgently needed to discuss
my material with an Editor
who never favored my work
that much
The Northwest Airline ticket lady,
who reminded me of my
Supermodel-English teacher,
Ms. Flores, kept asking:
“So, you’re a poet.
What poems do you write about?”
I suppressed my impatience,
growing like hot air
in an expanding balloon;
ignoring her question, and asked:
“Will I catch the next plane to LA?”
Eventually, I got booked
with another 2 hours to burn;
so I went to Starbucks-
people watching, and
seeing them as someone else,
like the odd couple who looked like
a Sunset Blvd. hooker,
married to a Catholic Priest
Then, there was this French lady
who appeared like the Doctor I knew,
who screwed her husband’s
best friend
30 minutes gone by,
I was watching a boxing match
via satellite, on TV
The boxers reminded me of
poetry readers struggling
in this battle of life;
or the famous poets
who barely got away
with their mediocrity
Suddenly, I got tired of
seeing people for what they’re not
All I could think of is-
if my neighbor has fed
my cat, my cat, my cat;
And probably,
how much traffic there’d be
in downtown LA
once I get home again
