Holding Pattern

The monitor turned red at midnight.

A hundred strangers let out one long sigh,

the sound of a tire losing its air.

Now it’s 3 AM and the carpet cleaner

smells like a chemical lemon.

The light is a flat, aggressive white

that makes everyone look like a ghost.

I’m sitting on my bag near Gate C4.

A man is sleeping with his mouth open,

his head tilted back against the glass.

He looks like he’s waiting for rain.