Thirty Thousand Feet

Poem

Infinitesimal fireworks pop like a silent flash from a lone diode light bulb.

The craft carries on northward bound as I type on these electronic keys.
The boy behind me has a pretty bad case.
My wife interrupts my transmission to snap a shot of my stim ridden face.
I can’t smile straight, I’m too tired.
 
The turbulence begins,
 
The boy behind is quiet, he examines the patterns in the isolated islands outlined by street lights.
His maundering mouth serenely recites the syllables he’s said a trillion times before.
 
He watches, learns, and discerns the roads and the highways standing illuminated aside the pitch black rivers. The carving waterways of void.
 
I’ve got things to think over.
 
I fear this new year
and how my boy will grow; he’s asleep in the next row.
Or God forbid not.
 
The boy behind begins to harmonize with the jets engine.
In the terminal, I told his dad he had perfect pitch,
“It’s amazing how much he can surprise me.” He said.
 
We stopped by a bar for dessert, drinks, and a kiss at midnight.
Then kept flying home.

more by JORDAN CLAYTON

photograph by Gabriel Garcia Marengo

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