Jet lag

Poème Justine

You eat 8 meals a day and here

whatever the hour, you can pretend

you’re just jet lagged

You drink beer in the hall entrance

so what

You take drugs before flying

You’re alone in a passing space

eating your 20grams-5euros-cookie

You’re temporarily imprisonned but it’s for your own safety

People check your luggage every day but they won’t go away they won’t go away

The person cleaning the floor has a 38-country-passport which does not even include where they currently live

People are speaking other langages identified as other langages – no one will learn anything here

A guy shows his black credit card asking if he can go the fast lane

There are no fast lanes here but

long corridors, clean tunnels, steps, doors

You don’t recall where you are right now

Could be Rio could be Paris or Santiago

It is not worth knowing as you won’t cross the exit line

This is not a poem about exile

There is a city out there you may never know

Too close to your aim, I know

Why would you bother taking a train, too slow

Fair enough

You’re just gonna vomit your 9th meal of the day and keep your eyes down on the screen promising extra time, short cuts, 6 to 6.45 casual sex or 1 to 1.45 lunch with a business partner. Same. pm.

Though I don’t do jet lag.

Justin(e), no man’s land

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