Cheryl Townsend
the boy in the plane seat in front of me has gas
His mother is applying her make-
up ambivalent to the turbulence
we are experiencing. I am trying
to write a poem and marvel at
how well here eyeliner id going
on while my pen skates across
this page. She pulls cosmetics
from a white plastic bag, looking
into a small compact mirror.
Earlier on this flight, that same
boy spewed an earlier consumption.
His mother had no make-up on then.
Maybe there's a correlation? We have
25 minutes before we land. They are
handing out hot towels that are
overly scented and creating a
headache as they mesh with a
perfume I highly detest and the
boy in the plane seat in front of
me has gas and 25 minutes is
lasting forever.
