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.