Raymond Luczak is the author and editor of 29 books, including ten poetry
collections such as Lunafly (Gnashing Teeth), Chlorophyll (Modern History Press),
and once upon a twin (Gallaudet University Press). His work has appeared in
Poetry, Prairie Schooner, and elsewhere. An inaugural Zoeglossia Fellow, he lives
in Minneapolis, Minnesota (USA) and online at raymondluczak.com.
Didn't you tell me once how your life was an airport,
with passengers and crew coming and going nonstop?
They had wanted only bite sizes of your affection,
your time. So what am I, just another passenger?
Would you personally escort me to my economy seat
and stay next to me long enough to my destination?
Or would you rather serve me a drink with a fake smile?
Or did you prefer to check in my battered suitcase
and wave me aside for the next passenger in line?
Or would you rather wave that TSA wand, outlining
my body as I stand with my hands above my head,
just to ensure that I wouldn't explode gunpowder?
Or am I just another carry-on, good enough
for a weekend? I'm tired of one-way tickets to nowhere.
It's time to cash in those frequent flyer miles.
Let's upgrade to first class and hold hands.
My heart turned into wood
the moment you alerted.
You danced wind.
I felt the gusts of thrust.
I didn't dare call for help.
Fire was so intoxicating.
My matchbook is bereft.
I am still tinder.
Kiss again these lips of flint.
I'm an emergency.
My bed is not what it used to be.
At one time it was a stage for dreams.
Anything could happen.
Money was no object.
No vision was too lurid.
A new theater could always be built.
A cast of thousands was easy.
I felt as if I could leap about forever.
My thighs would never grow sore.
But it's nothing but house lights.
It's been years since you've left.
My dreams have no audience now.
A shiny dime appears on the sidewalk.
It must be a message from the Goddess upstairs.
Today will be a better day, I decide.
I pull a loose thread off my shoulder
and notice that one of my sleeve buttons is loose.
I should go shopping for toilet paper before I run out.
A friend tells me that she is divorcing her husband.
In a hookup app, a bearded stranger says hello.
I wonder if we're meant to connect.
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