First Flight to Layover 

The taxi is one hour,
twelve minutes late.
I call the cab stand .

“I don’t understand
my drivers today.Fate,”
she says. “My power

over them is nil.”
I’ll get back to you.
She does call .

“Car 88 is al-
most there, just a few
minutes, sir. I feel

terrible.” I’m not as mad
as I should be.
but I have missed my flight.

I suppose I can write
this one off as how it is to be,
not expecting how bad

to worse the day will turn.
Luck is with me, it
appears. The cab arrives.

The taxi driver drives
like a bat out of hell. It
is only my concern,

none of his, and then I learn
my flight has been grounded
when I get to the front desk.

I board. After three hours turn
into four. I sit, most passengers sounded
much displeasure throughout. I was impressed

with the young lady in the seat
next to me, reading an ebook,
listening to music on her head phones,

being as silent as I am.