Bill Murray in the Air

A poem

This was supposed to be a book review, but then I didn’t like the book! Still read the whole thing (of course), but didn’t like it. It’s been a while since that’s happened, and I’m not sure what to do about it. Feels like a waste to not say anything at all, but feels unnecessary and bad to say bad things. Hmmm…

For now, I’ve decided to do nothing about it, so it’s a good thing I had this little slice of life on deck for some such emergency (not really an emergency) like this one. Until next week!

Bill Murray in the Air

I wept at the airport last night over a canceled flight,
Without anyone there to calm me down,
Other than my unwilling self.

Was sour, indignant—turned around and
Hauled my carefully packed bags
Back from whence I came.

I took myself out to dinner in earrings,
Drank a glass of red wine,
Charmed everyone in the room by reading my book at the bar.

Woke up in the dark and set out into it,
Made it to and through the airport,
All the small indignities.

Now I’m in the air hurtling,
My eyelids are heavy and
Wanting.

The clouds (clouds exist!)
Are glowing with sunrisen light
Making my mouth water and my feet itch.

I don’t think anyone feels the way I feel
About clouds or about crying at the airport and
I know no one wants anything the way I want you.

Bill Murray is on my flight,
And unlike me, he waited until the last possible second
To get up and get himself on the plane.

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