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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