A poem a day in April from Rutgers English PhD students and friends.

Wednesday, April 28, 2010


shouting airport goodbyes
to cities across the concourse


they’re inspecting the plane
at the next gate
let’s hope birds don’t strike
in the same place twice

In Kalamazoo

nor undie bombers


Only know the laws of the skies
from the earth where they rule me

this morning green tea & jesus radio
girls from my north
settling scores with the south
I read from my book
attempting same with west
before heading back east

“Where are you coming from?”
“Brooklyn? New Jersey? Chicago?
I don’t know.
I can tell you where I was last.”

life felt in flashes & sheets
on one of two screened-in balconies
an abundance of air and vistas
blood tide rolling below
stadium looming, middle-distant
This must be a town because a city has to have at least one tall building
I said and she gestured toward its behemoth bowl


Airport bar right across from my gate.
Why isn’t Andy here to urge me toward a piña colada, or something else gratuitous.
Something like singing If you like piña coladas. . . .
Too much. It’s too much to drink a piña colada alone at a bar at the Detroit Metro Airport.
Who do you think you are. You only like situations too big or too little for their contexts.

A woman sat down next to me chatting on her phone. When she started talking about a powerful sermon she’d heard earlier in the day I was writing about piña coladas and glanced over toward the bar. She may have taken it as a hint; she got up and left.

I’ve got the qualms. Queasyheaded. Ativan plus piña colada equals love.
It’s autoerotic. It’s biomechanical. It’s a bird, a plane.

I prefer to travel in one plane, by which I mean on the ground.
By which I probably also mean NONSTOP.

There’s a Fuddrucker’s, too. (Don’t tell Andy.)
Which is the same as I wish I could tell Andy.
What justifies a phone call? she tweeted.

Where the top of the plane meets the sky is the same color as the sky. No wonder birds get confused.
Pink planes, I call for pink planes!

Passenger “Your Gramma” please report immediately to Gate A6.

1 comment:

  1. Your pina colada totally cancels out her powerful sermon. Or something. I love this!