I can't help but gaze at seats B and C,
and I can't help but notice their
owners' appeal–
In the subjective, not my favorite–to
be objective, surely real,
and for once I wish away my
corner–window seat–
To see both their faces as they talk
across me.
I can imagine what a simple pleasure it
would be
To be ignored–and even silent–but
still in between.
It's the only time I ever wished to
have a middle seat.
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