Member-only story
Poetry
Seat 38 C
Turbulent Relationships
Published in
2 min readMar 6, 2025
as I walk up the airplane
and walk down the aisle
38 C is my seat
to the last row, I go down
seven-three-seven max
I swore never to fly
but this is what happens
for not booking fast
they assign the last seat
38 A, by the window
38 B, in the middle
and by the toilet, 38 C
the captain announces
ad nauseam, time after time
we won’t have cabin service
it will be a turbulent flight
No champagne for us.
38 A is a man
38 B, I think it’s the wife.
too worn out to be lovers
too quiet to be friends
there seems to be tension
I stow my luggage away
she seems to be restless
he does not seem to care
not a concern in his world
for the rough air ahead
they whisper in secrets
I’m supposed not to hear
