Learning to Fly
The airport bows, hands pressed in namaste,
presents itself, lifts its hem to reveal
waxed limbs, sharp pressed walls,
sterile gait, crafted
to be world appropriate;
just not helpful
to the indigenous.
Sentient doors part at your arrival
Premium rates do not apply yet.
There's a price to be paid to daydream
in the lounge - overindluge
in your smile over-commit
to the act that you own it.
When you feel out of place, like yeast
among mushrooms, look to the east.
On the stone steps lie dreams stuffed
into asbestos, aluminium, and tarp.
Stored next to the taxiway
out in the open, evident.
Smell the must of skin
cooked in the slow heat
living scavenge waiting
to be picked clean
to be ignored