NaPoWriMo Day 5

Prompt: flying

 

The messy haired girl

sprawled out stretching out the morning

there are so many kinds of people in this place

where the wings send us over peaks

and tidy plots

flimsy, bitty seat belts holding us

safe in the air

I like to watch as we take off.

I like to watch the wheels squish into the pavement

as stomachs do that underwater

summersault thing

I like the 1/3 can of ginger ale

and the garlic sticks and

to watch who’s looking out the window-

who’s overcome by the wonder of it all

I don’t like when the clouds take over,

when the ground disappears from fog/smog/night

I like to see where we could crash.

I think if I flew planes

I would insist on stepping on land after every flight

call me superstitious

but I don’t trust our science.

Feet kissing ground thankfully

those rubber tubes aren’t enough to ensure we’ve hit the ground.

Inside:

Busy bodies with no place to be

pacing

or sipping

or listening intently to a series of commands,

or melodies filled with questions

impatient

Those security pat-downs aren’t as intimate as they could be-

The woman didn’t even smile at me.

Everything is shiny and everyone who works here says they

don’t eat airport food

I make my own breakfast suggestion

swallow the yokes down with a beer

because at 10am in an airport you can

and maybe should drink

before you whisk off again.

This doesn’t feel like flying should.

There should be something mystical in it all.

There should be a sacredness during this take-off

instead

we put in our headphones

pull out our books

anxiously await

in-flight service

wonder what airplane bathrooms look like

and how two people could ever fuck in them with good

conscious

(nothing subtle there-

maybe I’m just on planes too small).

I don’t fly much.

I’m grateful.

I can’t turn this commercial endeavor into a religious experience.

I don’t even know how to get to baggage claim.