Tuesday, June 27, 2017

Airport Terminal by G. Louis Heath

The flight board shuffles again before my
Dreary orbs, cancelling another dream for 
Launch out of this blizzard. Another trip

Gone awry, metaphor for life, one damn 
Thing after another. The terminal’s white
Noise fails to mask languages and dialects

From everywhere. They are anodyne to the
Dull throb of my long day, prelude to my 
Long night, laid out on a sarcophagus bench,

Draped in my Iowa winter coat. As night
Blackens the immense stretches of glass, I 
Feel I stand in the maw of a dying thing. I

Hope this will end soon, as this tide of 
Humanity ebbs out, this place then a desolate
Beachhead, sterile, no drift evidence of the

Vibrant, stressed humanity waylaid here by
Storm, a blink of the all-seeing eternal eye.

G. Louis Heath is Emeritus Professor, Ashford University. He enjoys reading his poems at open mics. He often hikes along the Mississippi River, stopping to work on a poem he pulls from his back pocket, weather permitting. Most recently published poem: “Baby Talk,” June 25, 2017, in IN BETWEEN HANGOVERS.

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