There's a man in a purple shirt
eating ice cream
at eight in the morning,
a lady in a wheel chair
putting on lipstick
& an elderly couple
sitting
across from me
figuring out their smart phone.
Jim Croce croons
about time in a bottle
as the tapping of shoes
crisscrosses the concourse.
A baby screams
and three workers
converse in Espanol.
The ticket-taker types frantically
on her keyboard
as Mr. Nice guy
is longer,
he's ****** about
his missing reservation.
And me,
silent as can be,
sits here alone
banging away on my own cell,
connected to another world,
oblivious to those around me.
May 22, 2014
May 22, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
There's a man in a purple shirt
eating ice cream
at eight in the morning,
a lady in a wheel chair
putting on lipstick
& an elderly couple
sitting
across from me
figuring out their smart phone.
Jim Croce croons
about time in a bottle
as the tapping of shoes
crisscrosses the concourse.
A baby screams
and three workers
converse in Espanol.
The ticket-taker types frantically
on her keyboard
as Mr. Nice guy
is longer,
he's ****** about
his missing reservation.
And me,
silent as can be,
sits here alone
banging away on my own cell,
connected to another world,
oblivious to those around me.
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