alaska airlines flight 286.
reminiscent of childhood therapy
family playing pick-up sticks.
a formula. numb. in order.

group 6 and the rest may board.
“deli sandwich? or a snack food?”
“deli sandwich? or a snack food?”
row by row robot speak smiles.

mechanically expressionless gestures.
messing with passenger’s rationality.
deli sandwiches for 12 dollars. snacks
for 6. no peanuts in the trail mix.

p.c. for those with allergies. next
seat neighbors. from dallas texas.
were familiar with my city and the
places i visit. palm starts to itch.

old man cane walking right by butts
my hip. patience. patience. robotic
smile. three. minutes. four. five.
shaking. just barely passing row ten.

i’m in eleven. he in twelve. oh well,
he sports a fly hat. he’s back. yelling
at his help (wife?), “don’t move.”
“DON’T MOVE.” tugging my seat back.

waaay back. attack. rocking me jerky.
jambalaya spicy. eyeing two rows up
an old couple split up. literally. one
window. one aisle. poor young texas girl

stuck like jam. became the middle tray.
conveyor. between two balls. she offered
to switch. but they refused her. the
interceptor of a mini red wine bottle as

they each poured a plastic cup full.
“complimentary beverage?”
“complimentary beverage?”
i’ll have a water, please.