Poetry

Now, Voyager

The brown weather crouches on the business park as Tom
boards the Toyota for the flight home.
His plane leaps at six, and the microwave background
rustles the water contents in his salmon salad,
his peas and his tossed spears of asparagus.
It’s a highway dry time until the bourgeoning futures
slap him awake at terminal 2, and the luggage berth.