Monday, September 15, 2014

Headline Poem 9/15/14 -- Regret


On my last flight, 
the man sitting to
my left
drank a Bloody Mary
with such fierceness 
I almost didn't notice his 
oniony smell
until he lifted his arm 
and revealed it to 
The man on my right
held his phone with 
practiced precision,
his thumbs,
twisted like organic carrots, 
growing the way they were
intended to
without interruption,
clinging to the sides while 
his raspy voice
spoke into it 
to text a woman 
named Holly,
     "Should I come straight home, 
      can I 
      stop by the office first, 
      question mark" Send. 
I thought long and hard about 
"can," and let it swirl 
around inside 
awhile before I imagined Holly at home
with a baby on her hip, 
and a cat they'd named Majestic 
rubbing on her leg,
hopeful for attention, 
contemplating how many times she'd 
the "can"
   and    wished    she    hadn't.