Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Flight (Poem)


I try not to squint at the sun.
The silver glitter and the roar
capture my attention,

I watch the airplane cut the wind
like a crow in Christmas’ Eve.
It seems effortless but everybody knows
how hard it is to move with no floor.

Perhaps it is on its way to London,
Perhaps it will take a small detour
to New York.
I don’t know.

Inside, a child cries,
desperate for attention
disturbing a lover
deciding what is the next
step and a man that is
so tired, wanting to get there,
wanting to never
go at all.
He pushes back his seat
and spills the drink
of a poet behind that
had opened his tray table
with a poem in his heart
that died as the pen glides,
meaningless and full of angst.
Besides him the baseball player
that never was
passes the time counting
trading cards that were never
in packs.

Watching the
window of clear
plexiglass I can see my face,
my eyes, my head, reflected
in the pale silvery light.


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