SIMPLY YOURS

Six chairs in a row
Tube points steep
A child’s scream bites the air
Another tries to sleep

Air blows from pipes above
And sinuses begin to close
Seat-back slams into your space
Fifteen centimetres from nose

Tepid coffee with less to taste
Dry bread in cellophane paper bag
Old lady nervously paces back and forth
Brushes past, my elbow’s snagged

Phones ringing as treetops appear
Big grins and claps
Wheels touch land
Luggage immediately grabbed

Pushed from isle by a sweaty back
Row 7; yet exit via the rear door
Bitter chill on the ancient bus
Aeroflot “simply yours.”