A poem
I glance out the window
At a sea of clouds
And keep reading
My old pal Bukowski
A stewardess comes over
And gives me a snack
Then another one comes
With the beverage cart
I ask for a beer
She says she doesn’t have any
So I take a coffee instead
She hands me a tiny cup
The coffee’s burnt and bitter
Still, I don’t mind
In Chopin Airport
Killing time on my layover
A guy behind a counter
With a dead eye
Asks if I want a hot dog
He says he has to sell it
I was going for a salad
But I say yes
He asks if I’m from Georgia
I tell him I’m from Estonia
Then I grab a beer from a bar
And drink it with my dog
The beer’s good
So good a fly lands in it
I keep drinking
Watching the fly
Drown in it
Probably drunk as shit
At least it’ll die happy
I can relate
That’s the reason I drink
I buy more booze from a shop
A small bottle of local liquor
Three little Soya Plum Wines
And another beer
Which I open immediately
I try to work on my laptop
The Wi-Fi won’t connect
I give up
I’m on vacation anyway
Get Keijo K.’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Eventually, it’s time to board
The plane’s packed
After I sit down
And read some more Bukowski
A stewardess announces
We’re switching planes
Something’s wrong again
The bus drives us back
I’m glad
I’ve needed to piss for an hour
The delay lasts two hours
Oh well, I think
And buy another beer
And some beef jerky
Some guys from my flight
Buy hard liquor
One of them asks,
“Can I get some cups with that?”
I finish my work and my beer
I don’t even mind
On the new plane
I ask if they have red wine or beer
They say yes
I say both
When the snack cart comes
I take both of those too
After more Bukowski
And the wine and beer
I start listening to the audiobook
Of Diary of a Drug Fiend
The lights go out
The book turns dreamlike
I open each of my three Soya Plum Wines
And drink them down
One by one
Maybe I’m an alcoholic
I don’t care anymore
All I want
Is to feel good
At least for a while
Like that fly
It’s the little things in life
Such as sex, drugs, and booze
That make you feel alive
When all illusions have died
When I step out in Tbilisi
The air feels ancient
The airport bus has no A/C
It’s five in the morning and scorching
I wonder how I’ll survive the day
I get a beer at the airport bar
A tourist trap
As I learn from the price
It costs almost as much
As the taxi to the city
In the taxi
I look out at the brutalist buildings
The mountains
The stray dogs
The mix of heat and concrete
Feels like South Africa
China
And Ukraine all at once
A beggar at a stoplight
Raises a cup
Just like in Cape Town
When I arrive
I tip the driver well
If for nothing else
For his silence
I reach the room at six a.m.
I can’t sleep
So I wander the streets
Taking photos of stray dogs
Then I go and buy some beer
They sell it all night here
I drink
And sleep till three p.m.
Another day survived
That’ll do
