cabin pressure

.


cones dangle from vestigial lightbulb fixtures,
and twitch through heavy fog, only as a warning
to oncoming traffic. massive wing tips whip
streamers from slow banking in
the blankets upon winter knit blankets of
cloud cover.

tail rudder vortices paint the glowing
chemical trail through the gaseous silt.
passengers see the ground glowing back at them

through cookie cutter pull-blind windows-
pink curtains, yellow fringe, and the smell
of sixties style air hostesses, lavender, and
old sock.

the whole of familiar "in case of . . ." instructions, and
little bottles of seventy-five milliliter booze
goes down to smooth the idea of living in theory:
all the flashes of a lifetime clung to the wings, in a low
pressure system.


.