Departures
by Travis Blair


"Life has a habit of running laps
on a never-ending track."

A DFW terminal lounge and I watch you
bid goodbye to your mother—
a woman closer to my age than yours.
Time has thickened her figure and inked
wrinkles under her eyes. You, stylish
and fit, so trim you’re a sharp knife blade
in your white pants, peck a dismissive
kiss on her cheek, eager to resume
your fast-lane adventures. The generation
gap has set in, I see it on both your faces.

She boards her plane and you return
to me, slip your hand into mine,
give my fingers an intimate squeeze.
I wonder how long I have before you feel
the same about me – dismissive, detached,
eager to banish me into my archaic cave.






Copyright 2021 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.