rubbed on me. My shoulder
shoulders the brief weight
of the attendant’s hips,
all the men’s packages a cock undiesel
down the aisle, walkers lean right
and this is not political.
The ones by the window,
the ones in the middle,
apologize for their bladders,
ask to be freed from the row–
I’m startled by their perfected womanhood.
That obedience to being small when filled to capacity–
passive polite to remove me from this C,
and I open like a door: in single-ladies file,
the mother of two and woman two-nips-turvy,
shuffle on tiptoes, sucking in their butts and cups.