The man in the leather vest that
Sat next to me on the plane
Was tired of riding his motorcycle
In circles all the time.
He said that he was ready for the Interstate.

I can only imagine his frustration,
Living for the road while living on an island. Ouch.
He let the cat out of the bag just then,
stroked it, gave it some words of reassurance,
and called it Neko, which means cat
In Japanese.

I wonder if he knows that.
He wiped the torrents of snot from
The cat’s face and stuffed it back in the bag and said
Something about seeing his wife and kids.

While trying to find my next flight
I found a man that understood
What I’d been thinking about.
He looked like a handy-man or a janitor
With a large gut that half-covered his toolbelt.

He’d lost all color, as many often do in the face of insignificance.
His skin and hair sagged, void of all will to stand out.
We got on the train at the same time, just him and me.
Standing at opposite ends
I made an effort to acknowledge his presence
He acknowledged mine in turn.
The red sign next to my head kept flashing:

Please hold on,
Please hold on,
Please hold on…

We understood one another.

The next train was different.
Everyone that boarded but me knew what they were doing.
A man in a uniform, leaning against the railing
Talking on his cell phone.
He was too busy and experienced
To bother with the red sign:

Please hold on,
Please hold on,
Please hold on…

Perhaps those with purpose have no need for signs.

The train came to life
With a cold rush and a sigh
The hustle and bustle had been left outside
And for our time in the tunnel
We were nothing more than people in a train.

The man in the uniform seemed to doubt,
Or at least consider the possibility
that he might not be what his uniform said he was.

Please hold on
Please hold on
Please hold on…

But before any of that took root the doors had opened and he was gone.

Sitting at my terminal,
there was a couple that had themselves in order
They each held a magazine
Brimming with examples and definitions
and signs and purpose.

They fit the pattern
Of every advertisement I’d passed
During my time in the airport.
Their respective magazines were made especially
for and by those of their gender
Telling them what their greatest questions in life are
And answering them.
What it must feel like to be so complete!

I wondered if they’d ever bothered
To read the other’s magazine.
The girl leaned over to show the boy
A bit of her reading that she thought was important and exciting

He rolled his eyes,
Convinced by Men’s Health
That he had no reason to take interest.
She wasn’t disappointed,
Glamour had warned her ahead of time
That this would probably happen.

So they went about their lives.
I fell asleep before they left,
But I could still see the red sign
From the subway:

Please hold on
Please hold on
Please hold on…

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