So I am here at this extremely busy
And inconvenient international airport,
Plenty early for my departure to
Mundanetown, U.S.A,
To visit family,
But lo and behold
And similar expressions
The departure down the corridor
Is nonstop to Buenos Aires,
Where we went on our honeymoon
All those years ago, before the
Divorce, of
Course.
So I meander over,
And find a lounge decked out in
Vibrant colors, a South American airline,
Lots of pinks and teals and navy blues,
Like my heart after you stepped on it
(Sorry)
I walk among the waiting passengers
Who look like everybody else
At airports everywhere
Meaning they’re foreign and domestic,
Young and old,
Men and boys, women and girls.
I look for anyone I know
Maybe you—or even us
From all those years ago,
Forwarded like airmail, only through time,
Ready for honeymoon version 2.0
Which could only be an improvement on the original
Which was a disaster,
As you might
Recall.
Here is where I ought to meet
Some dashing Argentinian
Some bally Flamenco dancer
Or wealthy tycoon
Or suave playboy
Who sweeps me off my feet,
Just like you did,
Back in a time
When I was too dumb to know better.
But this is real life, where encounters don’t just
Happen because you think cosmic forces
Should be hard at work
Which they are not,
At least not
Usually.
So I walk away, back to my flight to
Ordinaryville, U.S.A, zip code
Oh-one-two-three-four.
Unnoticed and uncared for by anyone,
Not even you,
Who are not really here,
Despite my protests to the
Contrary.