Let them stand in line together:
he, with his seven canvas bags
she, with her packsack and purse.
The procession of acolytes
waits to undertake at the check in desk
the ceremony of tagging the luggage.
They could be pilgrims circling
the Holy Mosque in Mecca
or patrons waiting for a liquor store to open.
The tense boredom prevents socializing;
but he can smell her musky perfume,
she his breezy aftershave.
She notes his rumpled gortex;
he evaluates her powdered cleavage.
She drops her purse: things scatter.
A clerk calls for the next passenger:
he steps past her as she fumbles at
her stuff, betrayed by her swimming eyes.