It’s a Bird, It’s a Plane…Oh wait, it is a plane.

Today, I go to California. To L.A. To vacation. To some sense of I’m out of here.

I don’t have long before I board, but I wanted to write a poem about airplanes (because I’m amazingly weird wonderful like that).

An on-the-spot poem about airplane windows:

The window, rectangular and unclear,
beckons mouths into an O
and hands like suction cups,
splayed wide-fingered on the plastic casing,
blow fingerprint kisses to the sky.

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