By John Eisner
if you can leave yourself
just for a moment
you will see them trotting
thru glass held corridors
they pull black bags on wheels
moving only forward
away from longing towards regret
strangers to each other
they laugh at misunderstood jokes
sharing a camaraderie of purpose only
they filter into view from
the unseen to seen
sit and eat your jelly sandwich
with an eye to your luggage
watch with fascination as they pass
you can’t see you,
although the glass between is clear
you could know one of them
or know them all
they are you on a different day
the frozen stare
the longed for omnipotence
the same wing beating anguish
announcements are made here
not mistakes
especially ones that cause
the loss of life
every step must be guarded here
every step taken at your own risk
there are no apologies here
icy smiles only of
veiled contempt
smug with the knowledge that
you could be detained here
to walk endless hallways
seeking absolution
while your flight continues to be
delayed indefinitely
John Eisner, a builder, raised two children with his wife Maureen on the Island in the 1970s. Recently returned from 3½ years in Mexico, he now lives year-round in Chilmark in a just-completed new home.
