ride. All the people outside are
ants. She loses ground in this
dance. Looking through a thick plated
hole at swirls of cotton candy clouds

she bumps around. ****** forward and back,
up and down, side to side, like a roller-
coaster ride. Her quarters are tight and
cramped, strapped like sardines

in boot camp. The food is bland as
the women. And that's all that she is
given. She cannot move; she cannot tweet,
for she is fastened to her seat. All the doors

are closed. The seat-belt sign imposed. She
cannot leave. But she cannot stay. The air
pushed out like Aerosol spray. Her feet swell
like balloons. Her skin is dried up like a prune.