We plan, organize, gather and pack,
we fly - what liberty is this - to fly
like a weapon on the edge of heaven.
Having no power to do it ourselves
we trust security, the silver whirligig,
and the immutable laws of lift and ******.
Looking down at clouds, near the speed of sound
“Yes, I’ll have the pretzels, please, and a sprite.”
aviating thru the night, a few silent, blinking lights
wedged up in the stars to those stuck in slow cars.
We land with a bump, and reverse engine ******,
remaining in our seats until signs are revealed
we then become the many-headed impatience
to exit, to rush - for the baggage we trust
made the journey with us.
Oh, quick, grab a cab, catch a bus
the grumpy, disheveled, six of us
we weary travelers thus
were returned from vacation,
to a near dawn New Haven.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Immutable: not susceptible to change.
