coach seat

i am a business trip.
i am cartons of plastic and
wastebaskets of polycarbonate.
i am mini bottles of wine and
napkins branded with
tiny blue jet planes.
i am a seat in the upright
and locked position,
covered with a flotation
device whose material
might be used in the production
of handbags for underprivileged
youth someday. i am iphones
and ipads and touch screens,
longing to be swiped with forefingers,
talked into, and wiped clean.
i am electronic devices
tucked into purses and
breast pockets, while
being handled every
thirty seconds for a blinking
light, a small pictorial
envelope, a voicemail.
i am airplane mode,
silent and unmoving.
no vibration, no signal.
i am styrofoam boxes–
full of prepackaged sushi,
sandwiches, and chicken
caesar salads. i am energy
drinks in small refrigerated rectangles
waiting to wake up international
travelers until they crash.
i am boarding passes spit from
a computer after searching databases
for your name from a sleek plastic card.
i am gate 52A.
i am boarding section number 3.
i am nothing more than a coach seat.

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Categories: Poetry

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