feb 24 2013
LAX, Gate 47A
The travelers cling to the island
fighting for a foothold,
for a chance to pluck the limited fruit.
Their phones, laptops, and tablets
balance precariously on the tiny table,
their cables drinking from the meagre outlets.
They sit on the floor, lean on the wall,
look longingly at the
sitting in the cramped seats
around the A Concourse,
trying not to bump knees,
squirming to be comfortable,
in seats designed more for the rowing galley
than for comfort.
Waiting for their turn at the island,
watching carefully with seeming unconcern
for the moment when an outlet
and they can dash across to claim it,
take their spot on the island.
The tide goes out.
The tide comes in,
and a new crew of castaways
cling to the island.