When I turned my iPhone back on as we taxied to the gate
preparing for a dash for my connecting flight
a voicemail had arrived:
The following is important information about your flight
which has been cancelled due to an earlier cancellation
due to weather in your area.
And this is how they told me I’d be emerging from the airport
an abstractly secure place with seemingly no connections
to the city around it
and negotiating with a native american woman
driving a Honda Odyssey with Super 8 vinyl lettering
do you have rooms?
And still I felt safer there than I’d done the day before
in a sterile concourse lacking only the words
FOR YOUR PROTECTION
on the sterile walls. Only the voice of some Orwellian god
droning every few minutes in the interest of airline security
all passengers are reminded to…
do nothing as you would do in a normal sort of world
and yet the interesting conversations with strangers
are so often in a seat
strapped into an aluminum tube and hurtling toward something.
poetrytech 
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