waiting for a taxi

with bags packed,
I look at my watch
and stare out the window,
waiting for the taxi
to take me to the airport.
i'll be
in france by tomorrow,
eating a baguette,
sipping
coffee near the seine.
i'll have on my beret
and boots,
and will wax philosophically
about love
and life.
sex and death. money.
i'll be an ex-pat,
far away from home,
becoming someone i'm not.
i'll type my masterpiece
on a old
remmington,
unsticking the keys,
sliding paper into the roller.
i'll type and type
and nod at what I've written,
i'll keep going
until i can't go anymore,
then it's off to spain.