Jetlag

 Eyes heavy, lids lowering as though pulled

by the black weight of an anvil,

she sits in the meeting, pinching skin

’til her wrists are bruising-blue and blotchy. 

I must stay awake, stay awake must,

her mantra pure, the mandala white. 

She eyeballs the table, glass-topped and old 

with its intricate inlay of sienna and gold. 

Stay awake, I must … Eyes open with a start 

and light upon the red lacquered lips of the boss

moving up and down, in and out, making no sense.

The dreary grey drone flat-lines _______________

Horizontal lethargy, stretched out, lying down 

warm and snuggly between cream sheets

citrus-scented from long airing on lush bushes.

Sleep draws her in on silver wingzzzzzzzzzzz

Her chin-propping elbow slips. Head hits glass. 

Red lips hover. Next time, travel business class.