THE MAN IN THE AISLE
a stone rolled from under my foot
and I fell into a bowl of plum blossom
shades of pink filled hands and mouth
branches grew into my body
I could swing from planets where rainbows
tied cars to orbiting space junk
unheralded by the man on the aisle
who contributed articles
on slugs banshees ad-writers
and theatre critics to the New Yorker
which banned me from airports
for packing over-ripe peaches
in carry-on baggage that leaked
onto hawks’ and doves’ wings
my Ceasar cut dripping blood earwigs
and herrings into aisles as I slid
out into skies of wilted petals
where I leapt hydro wires with aplomb
Bionote
JOANNA M. WESTON: Married; has one cat, multiple spiders, a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Frame and The McGuire', published by Tradewind Books 2015; and poetry, ‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications, May 2016. Her eBooks found at her blog: http://www.1960willowtree.wordpress.com/
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