Airplane

Although the stop red Fasten Seatbelts Sign still 

glows

like the orange tip of an anxious 

hand’s lit 

cigarette, 

I stand up to use the lavatory, 

warned by a flight attendant 

that captain feels

I’d be better-safe behind 

a seatbelt,

strapped firmly to a chair 

installed to cushion mild 

and/or unexpected turbulence.

“It’s your call,” he says;

and I trust captain 

as long as lift prevails.

But his throttle-wielding status

won't relieve me.

Up from the middle seat,

down the aisle - 

not for ritual, 

but something also 

human.

I pass the world by -

the man seated next to me

playing Klondike on his ipod nano,

head down in a 

do-not-disturb fasion;

the woman on my right 

who loves to laugh, 

the mother of 

at least two seated nearby 

reading New York Times bestsellers;

the pilot in First Class wearing sunglasses;

the man wearing a black fedora -

I pull the door closed and move 

the knob-latch to the left,

the soft go-green glow 

of Lavatory Occupied 

on the other side of me.

I hold a handle conveniently placed

to assist with 

mild and/or moderate

turbulence -

handles for the unexpected…

It wouldn’t be so bad 

to die by crash,

to fall thirty-thousand feet 

through winds and screams, 

curses and prayers,

Life and Death -

LifeDeath.

falling to Life on or off this plane

even as I stand on floors built 

to withstand severe and/or 

unexpected 

turbulence.

I return to my seat 

where two Russian generations in front of me 

are silent,

father resting,

leaning his head back against the top of the chair; 

noting his bald spot and proceed

to habitually memorize every hair,

son leaning forward uncomfortably 

on the back of the seat in front of him,

trying to sleep

while father rests a hand on his back,

and son wears headphones 

in a modern 

bored-and-weary 

fashion.

I could die here onoff this plane

and I think I could be happy 

here, streaming high forever,

falling to Life...

Curious upon landing,

following the world

down the isle to unboard,

can I manage to touch the ground

and live in a less-than living-dead

fashion, knowing 

there are no handles

to assist 

for the kind

of fully 

expected 

turbulence

waiting below the gate.