Sleeping in Public

Halfway from nowhere to somewhere else

Again

Is a small-town airport, lights keyed low,

Waiting for morning flights.

Along the wall huddle islands of baggage.

Some of it human,

And the night crew mops around their snores.

In my own island, luggage strap

Wrapped thrice around my wrist,

I tack the coast of a sleep

Thin as the coat I make my pillow,

Swollen as my one suitcase.

On the road again, I have no excuse

To offer-neither youth nor age.

My excuses have mutated through

All the colors of a bruise,

Faded to scars that draw no eye.

Somewhere along the path I'm on

I'll reach that perfect numbness,

Be flung like luggage from place to place

And feel no pain.