The child behind me falls asleep
at last. Why can’t I? Is it because I
didn’t have a tantrum first—explosion
of energy leading to exhaustion?
What did I forget? To check for
a working pen in my purse. I hope
this pencil doesn’t break its lead.
Reading the New Yorker is at once
informative and mind-numbing, except
for the poems I am too tired
to make sense of.
of which I . . .
Which position is better for the legs?
I doze and wake with aching neck.
Then sleep, interrupted by the call
to pull the seat backs up.
The child sleeps through the landing.
