Next

Gate keeper, book me on
The next flight out; put me next
To a beautiful girl who won’t
Notice I’m old enough to be
Her father, who won’t mind
Me falling in love again while
We shuttle between Boston
And Philadelphia, Toronto
And New York.

Gate keeper, the overheads
Are packed tight, the booty of travelers
Stashed in all the available spaces
Beneath too-full seats occupied
By too-big people. Yes, the plane
Is full to the brim; overhead
Compartments overflow
With jackets, coats, suitcases,
Computer bags, chocolates
Purchased on impulse for twice
Their worth in duty free – what kind
of deal is that? I want to know --
While attendants push baggage
To the outside wall, check whether
Seatbelts are fastened, tell us
Laptops, cell phones and other
Electronic devices must be turned off
Until the plane is in the air and
The pilot has turned off the seatbelt sign.

How long will we sit on the runway
Waiting to be anyone, anywhere?
Until the hourlong dream, the day trip,
The next hop, the leg, the arm, the elbow,
The knee, take us to the next stop,
While arm in arm, cheek to jowl, flapping
collective wings we travel the night
over Endless Mountains, until the hiss
and hum, the whirr and clank
of landing gear pen reality checks
into all the proper boxes.

an evening out at the reading

you gather in the back room
beers in hand attitudes in check
silent as the damp grass at night
hopeful as the lost child in the woods
that the sun will rise, a lofty note
on the crescendo of an aria
that for the moment it exists
fills an emptiness you live with
without knowing, until the song
of songs plays and the bow rubs
an harmonic and someone turns
up the volume. that’s when you
realize there can never be enough
sound to fill a room, never
enough sense in a moral tale,
never your character in the fable
to show you the way to the door.