LGA to SEA, January 15, 2009
Hot off the steps of the jets
Sweeping cool blue turbine painted unclear
In the phony heat. The bicycle man sits
Cross-legged in that damn lawn chair.
Staring down planes as if they weren’t
Swimming against gravity, like the titanic’s limbs
Swirled free from crushing tension.
“The birds, the birds look at the birds.”
The cockpit is full of birds, like a bad pun
Gliding towards Teterboro, ditching it
In the Hudson, where buoyancy has
a different meaning. Water swaddles
the cockpit like a blanket too large
to take off, deciding it better to throw
the covers over and sleep in today.