LGA to SEA, January 15, 2009


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.


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