THE YEAR OF THE FIRE
MONKEY

He crossed the border
of who he was.

Smuggling himself
out  into the world.

An illegal self.

So, here he was
at 35,000 feet.

A man with no past.
A man with no shadow.

Inventing who he
could be.

A kind of reincarnation
of personality.

A moment by moment
existence.

Never too sure
who he really was.

Time to be
someone else.

Hiding behind hs
Village People moustache.

He had to laugh.
"Young man...!" he sang.

The inflight movie was
Running with Scissors.

But he wasn't
interested.

"Mmmmmm...little wing
fin...banking?"

7 Down - seven letters.
Beginning with an A....ending in an N.

"Mmmmm!" Again.
And again: "Mmmmmm!"

He glanced out the window
as if the clouds could tell him.

"Aileron!"
he blurted out loudly

startling the portly lady
in the aisle seat

spilling her
black coffee.

A sugar lump
dissolving in her lap.

Staining her pleats.

"Pardon...Madam...Pardon!"
he dabbing at her with a napkin.

She slapping his hand
away.

She reminded him of...who?
Yes...yes...Sidney Greenstreet!

In The Mask of Denitros
from '44 was it?

Her husband( ha ha )a dead
ringer for Peter Lorre.

He a cryptic
crossword of self.

Never too sure
even what the clues meant.

"Dog fight...taking a turn
WW1...to the Max!"

2 across...13 letters.
Beginning with an I....ending in an N!"

Ha...know this one!
WW1 a dead giveaway.

An Immelman turn.

His mind flying now
above the moment.

Coming into land.
"Con mèo....con mèo!"

He repeated and repeated
trying to catch up with his Vietnamese.

Time now

to turn back

Time.