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This writing was accepted for publication in the 108 page perfect-bound ISSN#/ISBN# issue/book “the End of the World” cc&d, v279 (the January 2018 issue) Order this as a 6"x9" paperback book:  |
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Flighty
John Grey
Plane takes off.
my nerves lighten,
stomach bears down,
anything to keep
this lump of metal elevated.
First sign of clouds though,
I’ve faith in the pilot,
the mechanics on the ground,
the engine, aerodynamics.
the thought that if
birds with brains the size of peas can do it,
then why not man.
Fifteen minutes into the flight.
the drink trolley glides softly
down the aisle
and I order a scotch.
sit back,
say to myself,
“Bring on the sky.”
By the time
we’re about to land,
I’m four little liquor bottles
to the good,
comfortable in my body
(especially the head),
and silently begging the
guy at the wheel
to keep us air-borne just
a little longer.
This is what is known as flying.
It’s a bar.
It serves up distance
for the price of my fear.
