Hurry to the gate to the gate
don’t want to be late
not me honey, plenty of time
think I’ll stop for a beer right here
what a nice place they’ve got
overpriced, understaffed, with the most
improbable crowd like in those nature flicks
where lions tolerate the antelopes.
Better be good and smooth and cold.
Who knows? Could be my last one this
being an airplane trip and all. 
At least I won’t go thirsty darling
how was your shopping? Fine.
Hope you got a good deal on that,
the best this side of river Styx perhaps. 
You said would you carry my coat?
No. Got my own thick skin to carry. 
You’re off to a shameful spot to smoke
and me who found it already sit
in this place to drink and order another dark one
watching the rising sun playing with the amber
of beer bottles and shattered minutes
that a waiter sweeps away every quarter hour
while this guy across munches on fake tuna
plastic salad between two real good slices
of imitation of actual bread, eyes lost
in a reverie about his kidney stones 
and his kids’ new school
completely oblivious to the rising sun
and the setting of an uneffable feeling
that I alone am trying to eff.
To no good effect.
What can I say
it ain’t much of a bar but hey
any port in a storm.