名人诗歌|Vacation

I love the hour before takeoff，

that stretch of no time， no home

but the gray vinyl seats linked like

unfolding paper dolls. Soon we shall

be summoned to the gate， soon enough

therell be the clumsy procedure of row numbers

and perforated stubsbut for now

I can look at these ragtag nuclear families

with their cooing and bickering¹

or the heeled bachelorette trying

to ignore a babys wail^{2 and the babys}

exhausted^{3 mother waiting to be called up early}

while the athlete， one monstrous^{4 hand}

asleep on his duffel bag， listens，

perched like a seal trained for the plunge^5.

Even the lone^{6 executive}

who has wandered this far into summer

with his lasered itinerary^{7， briefcase8}

knocking his kneeseven he

has worked for the pleasure of bearing

no more than a scrap^{9 of himself}

into this hall. Hell dine out， shell sleep late，

theyll let the sun burn them happy all morning

a little hope， a little whimsy¹⁰

before the loudspeaker blurts¹¹

and we leap up to become

Flight 828， now boarding at Gate 17.