Mile High

solar-impulse-plane-circumnavigates-globe-without-single-drop-of-fuel-21The ex footballer tried

to fit his huge frame into the tiny chair

in the cramped plane made for small people

of which he was not one

with his sagging musculature of college sport

he dreamed of when he sprinted hot faced

and glorious on football field with the roar of

the crowd warming his back like midday sun

how far we come, how fast we lose

that energy of youth

the ex footballer mused

pinch of metal seat digging into

his oft knocked, sore knees

when she

much older behind her fragile

wrists, perhaps enough to be

his reluctant mother

if her breasts were full of milk

and her loins birthed him still

as big as he was

as small as she is

sat next to him and folded up her skinny legs

like the free pretzels given by bossomy air


though I think they go by another name

everything so politically correct these days

he told her he worked for a New England company

checking roads and longed one day to

escape the cubicle and regain his former glory days

to run until his breath labored and chest burned

with the fervor of a free man

why he was so candid surprised them both

her eyes full and dark locked on his words

and he could see how fine her cheekbones looked

with the flash flash of the de-icer cutting across wing

little windows facing out into cold skies

how long do you think it will be? he asked

meaning many more things than plane schedules

do you have a destination?

neither could answer with any sense of certainty

she pushed her shoulders into his and he

devoured her smallness with his bulk

underneath the blankets when overhead lights dimmed

people turned, sighed and fidgeted in darkness

he found her passage and she his sorrow

they moved together like dark wind pushed the plane

ever forward into the future

drowned out by constant surge of motor

his climax covered by engine cry

when you do not see each other, is it real?

or dream fitful against rushing skies

neon lights clicked on and wrinkles were

ironed hastily out of slouched dreamers

she left without hand luggage

an old lady of eighty asked him to carry hers

he lost the color of her hair in disembarking crowd

blurring with sleeplessness

swallowed her whole

her smell on his fingers and rumpled clothes

his hotel room cold and empty with styrofoam cups

empty of warmth

holding her movement behind his eyes

finally sleep took him down

loose limbed and missing

something of the dance they created

lost in time and space

sailing above the clouds