In the seat next,
more than stilettos,
more on the order of a
Jim Bowie knife

never meant to but wound
or needlessly take a prisoner,
if it can quietly be avoided

and the legs,
Miami gold, Latino,
not the Cubano kind you smoke,
but mucho ok to inhale

and at 35,000 feet,
nearer my god than thee,
I utter an afternoon blessing
in rudimentary Anglospanol

"Gracias to you,
Lord our God,
Señor del Universo,
who has made me humano,
according to thy will,
modest and unworthy,
of the sight of rainbows
and your creature creation,
placed beside me in 14B"

of course,
the flight lands early.

I shoulda kept my mouth shut...