Im sorry but
this is vile and undrinkable,
this coffee.
No amount of sugar
makes it sweet.
The air in this cabin is
sandpaper in my throat;
Im on the row of seats
that wont recline,
and the other ear doesnt work
in this pair of headphones
—not that I want to watch
Autumn in New York
again anyway.
You, maam, are quite possibly
the only redeeming feature
of this cross-country flight.
Oh, but you—what a feature!
You say you gave up
teaching kindergarten
to be a flight attendant
so you could escape
Chattanooga, Tennessee.
My Lord! With your
perfect ponytail and your
starched white airline blouse,
you look like a cheerleader,
like a porn site Lolita,
like the girl who carries
the cross down the aisle
in my mothers church.
And look at that fine
blonde fuzz over your lip
when you turn your head
that way in the light;
that may be the most beautiful
sight Ive ever seen.
What in the world is it like
to get out of bed
every morning knowing
you have lips like that?
And you say youve been
on the job just three months?
Youre a baby!
But then, look at your klutzy walk,
your trembling hands,
your unaffected smile.
Hey, that’s no toothpaste ad!
It’s the real thing—
which is to say,
dear God,
you are the real thing.
Innocent.
Well, you dont need me
staring at you, do you?
No. I mean yes.
Yes! I would like more coffee,
with extra cream please.
Oh, thanks—thats plenty.
How kind of you to ask.
