in #poetry7 months ago


As I lay on the ground,
during lockdown, phase one, I look up to,
two white planes and their jet trails, plumage my chickens turn their golden eyes skyward to see.

They’re just off course a bit from parallel, speeding towards one another,
one appears larger,
with more chemical-burn-off tracing a white line, but I suppose it could be more shallow?

Just as we’ve learned from all of these narcissistic studies,
that means they do make themselves look bigger in any situation!
And because these two lines were not meant to continue on and on forever without meeting,

so finally, at three-quarters of a way they did, through the top of my head, intersect, dissect, make
of themselves triangular clovis-tips, to push themselves, softly-sharply, into others’ open skies,
the snake-speak of no more,

go all the way round,
because eventually, these two, will hit head-on, high-in, gyroscopic flight speeds, to wobble-shock,
hit the wall,

and stop.
But, beneath all of this, what I’d first wondered about,
as I lay like him, on my side, chewing the bases of fat blades of grass,

just as my father taught by example, is what if,
the beautiful, lit-up clouds we take pictures of,
from our plane windows seats,

while we’re happily on our foreign-travel-dreams,
are in fact, exhaust,
pollution, the shit of money and rickety dreams?

Photo Credit: Pixpoetry @blackpoetry c/o unsplash


Love Supreme for this musing!

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