I'll see you in November, I say.
If we make it, he replies.
He is right to be skeptical.
How are you these days, he asks.
Well, I sigh, I am rough around the edges
and eat lasagna for breakfast, so I am well.
And how are you, good sir, I ask.
I, too, am well, he says, talking with a poet
on an airplane is never dull.
Indeed, he returns to his movie.
Indeed, I return to my whiskey.