Between Flights

They didn't have the best
of what might be called
a break room, but it was
fine with Jerry since he
wasn't exactly on what
could really be called a break,

Just a pause between one
lay-over and the next, landing
in the middle of BFE and cooling
his heels in a dark, musty corner
of a maintenance shed, hands
pressing against the soft curls of

Whatever-her-name-was today,
pieces of her uniform and his piled
side-by-side, never mingling, very
much the way their bodies would
soon be piled together but still mostly
just doing their own thing, He taking

A moment to unwind mid-shift, and she
finding something to do with herself,
besides listening to jet engines, without
involving passengers wanting her to
bend her over and never, practically never,
tasting of anything but stale alcohol.