By Benjamin J. Chase
Sometimes I spend an afternoon
on those half-padded seats
facing glass panels
in the arrivals section,
as if at the movie theater,
to watch the droves of people
entering my life.
It’s cheating, I know,
a way to steal
an expectant glance
from a stranger
who might mistake me,
for an instant,
as a friend.
But I hold
no cardboard sign
and I incline
toward no one.
I just sip my coffee,
rattle my keys, and
after a time, I leave.
Category: Poetry