On the bus I had two blood clots up my nose —
I don’t mean the direct flight wasn’t convenient —
I blew them out to breathe. I’m light headed and find myself
Musing over how inspiring hitchhiking sounds.
The flight was not bad, not a bad means —
I slept through half of it — I just feel sad. We passed
Forests, cities, cemeteries, people, peoples,
Greenland, and I barely noticed.
In Jaffa’s shuk I found
Gold Aladdin pants to try on, and lost myself
In alleys on route anywhere. You’ll never catch me
Napping on the bus, even through the tunnel, up to Jerusalem.
I caught a post-travel fever — kept my blood loosening.
My nose would say, Glad you forced out
The clots and didn’t miss the sulphurous springs,
Dead Sea oils, gas stations, exhaust.
Hold onto Negev dust as it scatters
From under your fingernails,
And recycle the plane tickets
So you don’t tell yourself you’ve been places.