I feel the pain of everyone Then I feel nothing —Dinosaur Jr.
No smoking on this flight, no snow globes allowed, no small brown bats or crickets, no drills or drill bits, we don’t want you hitting any wall studs, no Magic Markers or Bruce Lee, even TheLittle Mermaid is suspect, even the moonlight, even the water you bought from us… Total bullshit everyone knows, plus the windows stay closed due to whatever, Row 37’s cursed, so is Omaha, also no pushups or having sex in the aisles, I can’t always stand what they pay me to say, and you don’t deserve it, but beauty’s still there, so much we should touch, please put your laser pointers away… If we lose one engine only I’ll recite some fiction, you only lose what you cling to, we’re just symbols after all, row upon row, then we’ll keep blasting amazingly through, a thought over love it or leave it, conceal and carry, shirts and skins and cash or credit, the big full-throated Midwest quaking, and oh what storms! Whoa, big fella! Our lovely attendants will see you then, our pharmacists and marshals oh husbands and wives eyeing each others husbands and wives, there’s 50 ways to leave your lover but only one off this flight, oh fellow travelers, I hope we can share without showing our fangs, that we love even the seat kickers and inconsiderate bastards whose hearts also ache. When we reach our destination, when the smoke clears and the door exhales like a ghost, look for the light. Last one off cleans the plane.
-- Matthew Guenette is the author of two full length poetry collections: American Busboy (U. of Akron Press, 2011) and Sudden Anthem (Dream Horse Press, 2008). He lives, works, and loses sleep in Madison, WI.