LAYOVER IN AN AIRPORT LOUNGE (poem)

LAYOVER IN AN AIRPORT LOUNGE
I was at the airport recently
when I saddled up to a gentleman
in the lounge.
People were smoking.
She brought me my usual in this
most unusual of places.
At least for me.
It had been years since I was in
an airport lounge alone and I
couldn't help my body language from
advertising it.

My plane wasn't in for at
least an hour and I had
enough time to kill before
the pre-flight Valium, so
I glanced at the TV
and thanked the Lord
next week's impending
hurricane would be arriving
just about the time I'd be mowing
my lawn safely 1000 miles away.

As I stared at the local anchor
I admired her teeth and face.
They jived.

The guy two seats down must've
been on my wavelength because
he pointed at the screen and said
to me, "Now that's a doll..."
I nodded and tried to size the
guy up, two drinks in.

He was wearing a three piece suit
and I found that quite odd
since no one dresses for travel
anymore and furthermore, it was
a fucking three piece suit.
Who wears those? As I was inspecting
him for a pocket watch and monocle,
he asked me what my poison was.

Raising the glass, I answered
him and he raised his eyebrows
with approval.

His name was Rick or Rob or
something short and manly and
we chatted about our work.
I told him that I was asked to
speak at some conference I had
no business speaking at.
I told him I bluffed my way
through and they all bought it.

As he checked his watch, he seemed
to listen to a distant,
muffled voice through some
godforsaken airport speaker.

When I asked where he was off to,
he stopped and whispered in
my ear, "Like I'd tell you..."

Stupefied, I ordered my third drink.

Chomping on ice, I watched him
walk to his gate and wondered
how I could ruin that flight.
A second later I was looking
for a payphone.