Tag Archives: airplane

Wheels down

The plane sits
on the tarmac
tethered to the ground
by air control.

The metal tube
surrounds us
as we sit
and wonder
and fume
and fuss
our privileged journey
interrupted,
inconvenienced,
for a moment.

In the cabin
the pilot awaits
the word that
will start us
on our way again.

DCA
6 June 2013

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Flying Marvels

Massive metal
technological wonder
mechanical behemoth
gleaming red and orange and white
pulls into the gate
spews forth passengers and cargo
sits patiently
waits to consume more.

Tiny flesh and
bone and
feathers
dusky brown and grey
flits across the gate,
lands in the rafters,
sits
surveys
sings
and flies to who knows where.

28 March 2010
MIA, Gate J11

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Air traffic hold

The door closes, the jet-way withdraws,
the plane backs away from
the gate.

Clearing the gate, the pilot turns
the plane; it enters
the runway.

Taxiing down the runway,
the plan pulls to one side
and waits

for the word to be given.

5 December 2011
DL 180

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Twist, turns, bends

It came to pass, when the weather was right
and the air traffic patterns were appropriately tight,
that the trail from ATL to LGA did make
a pass o’er CLE and the lake.

Where goes the trail, we may not know:
as it twists, it turns, it bends.
Along the trail we follow though
we see not where it wends.

19 July 2011
DL 485

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The child in 29A

The eyes of the child in 29A grew wide as
turbulence buffeted the plane on its approach to ATL-
wind gusts pushed it from side to side and up and down.

The face of the child in 29A turned pale as
the plane finally hit the ground with
a thud,
a thunk,
a thump.

The gasp of the child in 29A could be easily heard as
the plane fishtailed down the runway
before slowing to taxiing speed.

The mouth of the child in 29A smiled, slightly smiled, as
the woman in 29C said,
“I told you we would be OK.”

The ears of the child in 29A did not hear as
the woman in 29C turned and said ‘cross the aisle:
“That really was pretty rough.”
“We’re walking away,” said 29D.
“Any landing you walk away from is a good landing.”
“Amen,” added 29E.

The hands of the child in 29A, as
the plane neared the gate,
began to torment his brother.

19 July 2011
DL 1716, DL 485

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Sad and mournful

They lose their fight to hold back tears
as they struggle for the words to say goodbye.
An awkward final embrace, then
a flight attendant gently takes the child’s hand.

At jetway entry, the child turns.
From under a mop of yellow curls,
red-rimmed eyes look where the father stands.
Brave waves exchanged,
the child continues toward the plane.

The father steps to the window,
presses his hands, leans his forehead.
To support himself?
To try to pass through the glass?
Condensate forms underneath his nose.
He stares at the plane as passengers embark.

The jetway retracts,
the plan backs away.
Until it disappears from view,
the father’s fixed gaze follows.
Then, and only then,
he slowly turns,
rubs his eyes,
and leaves the gate.
Alone.

19 July 2011
Gate C38
Denver International Airport

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Tomato

Tomato,
though juice or soup or exactly what type,
I could not tell,
must have caused the large red stain
on the back of his shirt.
How it got there, I cannot guess.
Nor do I choose to imagined
what might have caused
the crusted stains
that covered
the sweat pants
sagging below his waist,
revealing his buttocks.
I avert my gaze
and plod on.
Slowly as I walk,
he shuffles even more slowly up the ramp toward forty-deuce.
But as I pass him,
it’s like a neon light appears –
words flashing over and over:
some mother’s child
some mother’s child
some mother’s child.
At the station door, I turn,
face him,
smile.
Making eye contact for a moment,
he nods.

Observed in Grand Central Station
May 2011
Written
11 May 2011
Swiss International Air Lines 022

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