Airport Lounge


Another flight home,
in the Alicante lounge;
my temporary carers,
beyond the call,
pool-restored my soul.

Us, there, air-side,
grazing on rolls:
the same arrayed-dish
from thirty years earlier:

Back then, alone,
on the run,
a station,
somewhere in Spain,
I was rattled south
on the RENFE train:

taking lunch,
a flight-stopped
guard’s whistle;
now, lounging,
my time-travelled.



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