The Middle Seat

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

12 thoughts on “The Middle Seat

      1. 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!

        Liked by 1 person

      2. 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…

        Liked by 1 person

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