Airports

By Paul Archer

We shuffle through the security
checks, but feel even less sure
of ourselves, patting pockets
for wallets, passports, tickets,
bored, checking the electronic board
for gate numbers, ‘Boarding’;
the names of places gleam:
the familiar, the unknown;
planes glide in, touch down;
planes roar off into clouds;
but here is another plane of mere
existence full of the empty stares
of people who’d rather be elsewhere
and stores without poems, or poets.

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad

Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad
Dear Black Child - Grace Storm Ad