A ***** sent into the ground
and a water bottle spills over
with the energy of a page read
in distressed silence after hours.
The truth is that no man
or woman
waits for no one when being
sent off to a deserted plane
on a 6am flight, eve
of the new year.
It’s comical to believe
that things follow one
another in the day-to-day
reality and trenches of
day-in day-out, kiss-another
to get one’s fill and float.
He waits and she waits,
but it’s him and her with
“and” being the operative.
"And," leading the way
in the wait for what
must make sense.
And sensing the ground
in flight keeps you up,
late into the night
contemplating the “and,”
and the “but,”
and the games we play
with language.