On the plane from Tel Aviv to Madrid, rerouted over Turkey, there was an Arab couple sitting next to me, to my left, the isle to my right, she had the window, her husband next seat over-talking away as if they were on their honeymoon-talking to those behind them, across from me, to a couple on the other side of the plane, talking away as if they owned the plane, as well as my seat. He, the male husband, surprisingly looked broad and handsome, and somewhat neat, even apologetic, but not enough to stop his talking.
In front of me was a young quiet Jew with his beanie-cap on, an old Jew across from him, fat and jolly, looking like Santa Claus, with a similar beanie-cap on, the fat one looking at passenger faces here an there, down the long isle of the Iberia 747-then both went back to sleep, like birds in a nest.
The loud Arab then, started talking again, to that seat beyond, his wife a bit disturbed, but not enough courage to tell him so-to stop talking-so loud, to where I had to plug my ears, that immediately told me, he was perhaps less rude than excited, I mean who would marry such a boorish being?
So all around me were Arabs and Jews, Peruvians, and me, the only gringo in town, with a Midwestern American accent; and then the Arab offered me some chocolates, as if to pacify my frown. “No thanks,” I said; and then with his husky voice-that boomeranged back and forth to his, he started talking again.
Next, the plane was landing (thank goodness) in Madrid. As I had run short of paper, and my head was hurting, and anyhow, this poem was at its end.