In a compressed metal tube, breathing recycled air.
To my right, unwashed armpit and stale alcohol.
To my left, the prodigious man repeatedly burps Mexican food.
No armrest for me.
Assaulted from behind, the child kicks my seat between painful shrieks that have permeated my cerebral cortex.
I’m Almost Home.
________________________________________
Middle SeatMiddle Seat
I don’t know if it sounds awful or beautiful, I can feel how terrible the experience would be, but, the beauty of the words make it feel like something hopeful. Perhaps it is a bit o’ both
Wow, what a kind thing to say. Thank you!
You’re very welcome
No (arm)rest for the wicked! ;o)
Actually, loved your poem…and I know it well. http://judydykstrabrown.com/2015/08/28/reading-2/
Thank you Judy, we’ve seen the prompt before! I see that the links transfer with the prompt. I should use that as an excuse to take the day off…
Ah but I know a writing workaholic like yourself wouldn’t do that. Right??? I had actually removed this post from the earlier time this prompt was used so since it wasn’t on my blog anyomore and was over a year old, I just published it again. If we stick around long enough, we could probably just reissue our blogs every 3 years or so and no one would notice. I must say this poem looked entirely new to me after a year. I forget things a few days after I publish them!
I don’t remember most of what I’ve written either. It makes me wonder how many times I’ve repeated unknowingly myself.
I have things I’ve written about that I can’t find, so I write about them again. That’s one reason I wrote the Devil #3 piece in rhyme. I couldn’t bear to write about it again in prose. I knew it was around somewhere, but where? And what are they going to do with our blogs and our files when we die? Guess we don’t need to worry about that…
I think our writing will be in cyberspace until Al Gore invents another field of communication. 😉
Ha.
My experience on too many flights. But, its all forgotten when I touch down at the new destination 9 and even faster forgotten when I see my home airport)