Sunday Poem: “Grounded”


The stewardess bends

to serve passengers

across the aisle.


Her backside

rubs against my shoulder.


Skin to skin,

if not for my shirt,

her skirt.


When she turns to me

I notice her ring.


“Coffee or tea, Sir?”


Her lover

thousands of kilometres away.


Closer than I will ever be.


(Editor’s note: poet Shai Ben-Shalom, an Israeli-born biologist, examines current events in the Blacklock’s tradition each and every Sunday)

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