Paul Goldberg’s most recent poem to appear here was The trouble with being perfect
(September 2014).

On a flight from here to there
By Paul Goldberg

On a flight from here to there,
we spend sixteen hours in the air.
I’ll read, I’ll write, I’ll have some tea.
Alas, oh no, can this be,
a mother and baby
sitting next to me!
The mother nods to be polite,
my body quivers out of fright.
I’ve often thought of that poor guy
seated next to a baby’s cry.
Now fate has dealt me an unnerving blow,
a newborn baby in my row.
Maybe the mother is nice as can be,
but please put no baby next to me.
I have delicate ears, my nerves are frayed.
Diapers turn me a greenish gray.
Complain I will, complain I might,
but then they’ll say it serves him right.
That baby, after all, they’ll say,
is cute, adorable in every way.
So here I sit and ponder why
this infant here just does not cry.
The flight is up, it’s time to go.
I just wonder who’s the baby in my row.