in my row, in my chair
among hordes of travelers
I develop traveler’s eyes
and they glaze over
all senses dulled
the only option for feeling
the profound, extreme; and drearily
I hoist bags over my dented shoulders
at every calling; an exercise in readiness
but willingness? hardly
this tired act is one of necessity—
I have to move, always move
always stand readily
taking cues from the loudspeaker
incessantly announcing
and the only thing I do heavily
is inhale the caked air
an acting of being; an act of here
the only relation to these travelers
in this row, in these chairs
is our blank stare
made with traveler’s eyes
