I go the route of the average stand-up commedian, and write about my flight in today.
Flight
See the wing from your window seat.
Watch it quiver like a saw blade in a gale.
Your beads of sweat are offerings
to the God of airplanes, who does not take
your bored glances at the clouds lightly
and could any time remind pilot and passenger
when man and stone were both equal in the sky
and may eye your seat reared so far back
that it skins a woman's knees
or your elbows on both armrests
as deciding factors in the final decision
to send you to hell,
after bringing you back down to earth.
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