Gate 27

The flight to Miami was delayed three hours

and I was in black. Customer service

ate Burger King French fries, applied

Nivea hand cream. It’s easy

to get irate. Could god smell my fake tan

when he said: There’s a 6:55

to Ft. Lauderdale. Take it. The traveler

in front was a white boy with dreads

and a wooden earring. I offered him

a granola bar if he’d let me cut.

I asked if his boots were vegan. He said:

No, they’re boots of Spanish leather.

He said: Customer service

is a capitalist microcosm.

He said: Jim Morrison died

at the same age as Kurt Cobain.

At eighteen I said those things too.

Through words, little gods pop up,

even in the late-teenage sections.

Isn’t that the way we remember history?

I just want to go part by part. I don’t think

there is a pattern to be found, but I like

the method of constructing tent poles

and refashioning fabric around them.

It’s very important to me

that there be a sense of unity.

It’s certainly not stopping

or holding on.