Riding Coach on a Transatlantic Flight

I can’t feel my feet
or hear my thoughts
at this altitude!
The millions of heads
that I fly over
cannot attest to this, but it’s true.
The humming engine drones on
and seeps into my organs.
I don’t want to drink another drink
or wait in line for
a shaking, claustrophobic lavatory.
I’m contaminated by this
capsule heaving over the ocean.
I can’t sleep or eat or drink
at the adjusted hours of our landing destination.
I miss my old hours
and I’ve forgotten who I am.
In flight I am nowhere.


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