Airborne

Airborne, (c)2013 John Meisel

(Thoughts about our behavior in the company of strangers, sometimes.)

I

I heard the sleeping noises of a contained crowd.

A living, breathing warm body in side a cold, hard shell.

A thin barrier protecting its precious contents as

The entire mass streaked through a forbidden world,

A place of wispy vapors and air thin, like the finest silk veil,

Or death shroud. Black, deep and also very quiet.

The sleeping noises of a contained planet,

A living, breathing, warm body.

II

She was sitting with her hands on her lap

Resting easily, finger supporting a weary head with

Pillow and cloud.

Dark eyes, tan lids closed against the night

Peering once and then, shutting again, securely satisfied.

A sighing sleeper rolls to one side and then the other.

The instrument panel winks away innocently

Like the far-away stars.

III

She was quiet and smiled shyly as I sat down.

He, with his head turned looked to the left and the right

And under the seat, at an ashtray, pocket folds, a

Crooked seat cover.

As schedule dictates, some stressed-out air traffic controller

Directed flights, orchestrated family freighters overseas,

Down runways, turning jerkily, never lifting to the sky.

Born to fly,

But why…