Issue 155, Summer 2000
but sleet comes over the wings again like a coating of dust
on the wide leaves of a rubber plant—
leaves I vaguely remember seeing, somewhere,
pancake-thick crudely outlined leaves, a canoon version of
something I saw in an overlong childhood afternoon
when the promised transparent vision failed to arrive.
Well, tower has told us we 're on indefinite hold—
looks like we'll be here for a while
an elemental distension, like melting watches
out of date the minute they appeared,
like the torpor my parents warned me of, though what would
of Tahiti and syphilis and tropical rot?
Folks, we need to get de-iced again
when they can get to us.
Well, it will be too late.