There’s a couple in seats E27 and 28
no luggage, not even a coat.
Holding hands like they are ready to jump,
Round-eyed, they monitor snack-scoffing
netflixers and double-chinned snoozers.
She gets out a phone and he looks at her
until her mouth makes an O. She switches it off.
They don’t speak: there’s no need.
They will always be connected by the blood
that startled and spurted
when she lunged
and the way he knew exactly what to do.
‘It’s not your fault, babe,’ he said has he hunted for bleach
‘He was never the right man for you.’
This is, of course, a work of fiction
Photo by Marios Gkortsilas on Unsplash