I’m looking there now
from this seat
a computer is buzzing in front of me
sounding like a helicopter preparing to take to the sky.
Outside a group of woman stand at the points of a triangle,
heads meeting in the middle, leaning smoke billowing up towards the clouds,
mingling in the ether, somewhere up there, drifting cigarettes gripped tween fingers, staining mustard yellow that won’t wash away.
It’s raining grey wet out there.