The Blue Coffin at the Airport

It rained and the roof leaked at Winnipeg
airport. At the departures x-ray gate I
passed a blue coffin. It was a glass cabinet.
A hose of blue LED lighting around it. I
looked inside. A rubber blanket. Then I
saw the woman. It's a massage table, she
said. Come here I'll demonstrate.
She pulled a nozzle and the cabinet sprayed
water like a car wash. You dont get wet,
she said. The rubber sheet protects you.
You lie under it. She does it every shift.
Okay, I said.
You want music? It's good it's Tai Chi.
She showed me the CD.
It's not too new age?
You'll like it take off your shoes.
She cranks up the lid and I lie face down
on a cushioned bench. A sheet of tissue
on my face. There's a gizmo to push if
I want the water to stop on a sensitive
spot. The lid closes and I feel like I'm
awake at my own funeral. I feel the chops
on my body. The rubber bladder hammering
down from the jets of water. It runs up
and down my body. You can't help but think
it's her, running her hands along your body.