Sometimes, I take the bus to the airport
to stand in front of the arrival gate and
wait. I scan the faces, one after the other,
and reject: no, this one isn’t you, this one
doesn’t have the same curls, this one lacks
your gait, this one’s attire is too flashy,
this one can’t seem to wait. In between
two flights, there always seems to be that
half an hour, when the arrival gate turns mum,
when I hear no advancing footsteps come.
I call that the intermission — when the waiting
chauffeurs scramble towards the loo & I stay put,
steadfast, not daring to move. Not daring to cross
the departure gate on way to the loo, not daring
to once again — right there — stumble into you.