Saturday, November 20, 2010

251

It's your job to control the music
playing in the airport terminal.
Something jazzy like the people
who can't hear anymore
used to listen to in bars
holding glasses in their hands.

I hear it between the syllables
sounding from the woman on the phone
and between periods of high heels
and rolling suitcases.

I brought nothing to do
but I like your taste.

You must have plain clothes
and a clean face.

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