Airport Lounge
Another flight home,
wait-slumped,
in the Alicante lounge;
my temporary carers,
beyond the call,
pool-restored my soul.
Us, there, air-side,
grazing on rolls:
hard-cheese,
salty-tortillas,
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:
Connection-making,
taking lunch,
a flight-stopped
guard’s whistle;
now, lounging,
eternally,
my time-travelled.