“Cross Continental” - 4/18/24

A man taps his foot nervously in aisle across from me
His is a voice that cuts through the din inevitably calling attention
Immediately ingratiating with the people surrounding him who seem to want to be left 
Alone

The man a few rows up looking at maps like they’re fine cinema
I wonder if he imagines himself in various places destinations unknown or familiar wrinkled friendly faces

When we land in the place we all knew we were going to
Clamoring for spaces in lines quick to auto-queue 
Each human being’s fine details culminating in expectancy expectations little brother 
A ritual currency

What if the lines we’re in pushing us forward 
Are actually regression hurling us backward
Limbs loose gravity-less wading in the air
Are we more where we’re going or more how we’ve cared?