- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Coffee on land
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Wheels on old luggage,
getting jammed
and scraping the airport floor,
like intermittent static on a radio signal.
Yet there is no clear broadcast,
nor are the distress calls of lonely or tired eyes
ever answered.
While the head clearly understands the purpose of getting from A to B,
the body hangs the arms by the shoulders till limp
and drags the feet - albeit in a bit of a rush -
from the point it wants to forget
to the point it won't remember.
This is not right, now, is it?
Snap your fingers - wake up!
Just smile back at the coffee lady and say 'Yes,
I think I'll have the croissant, after all.'
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