Saturday, June 11, 2016

Delay (a sonnet)

By Eric Meub


The plane has just left Denver, so they say
at six. At eight, The crew are on their way.
A surly rabble mills about the gate:
I’d lose my job if I was always late.

I’m lousy at relinquishing control
when leisure time is draining down the hole.
I hate the book I brought, the bag I checked,
the ease with which they show me no respect.

They’re calling this an inconvenience: what
they mean by that is I’m an idiot.
And so I fix a molten gaze on some
bright agent chatting at the podium.

But then, for no good cause, I find I’ve smiled
at this: a mother jollying her child.

Copyright © 2016 by Eric Meub
Eric Meub, architect, lives and practices in Pasadena. He is the adopted brother of the artist, Susan C. Price. They respect, in their different ways, the line.

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