The Man in 32E

The man in the middle seat
has a calm energy about him.
I am in the aisle seat,
so we are constantly playing the game
of respectfully adjusting our shoulders
to try to give the other comfort.
I pass a pillow to his wife –
she’s in the middle seat across the aisle –
and I pass him her credit card
when he buys a pack of pringles.
He makes a joke about how
he’s done nothing nothing on this flight
except eat.
I laugh, we smile,
and we return to ourselves
(me, to my book; he, to his).
Despite our efforts, his upper left arm and my upper right
are touching for most of the flight.
As much as I love it when the middle seat is empty,
I didn’t realize how comforting it would be
simply to feel the platonic pressure
of his body against mine.


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Filed under poem, poetry

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