man on a plane, by Donna Fleischer
man on a plane
By hearing him speak with a flight attendant, I learn that he is from Hungary, the man in the dark brown suit and brown shoes who reminds me of the German Conceptual artist, Josef Beuys, dressed in his overlarge felt pants and suit jacket.
During the arduous flight from Amsterdam to New York, he shifts seats from time to time: sometimes in the aisle seat, other times the window seat, and once, all three, for a nap. How is it that on this crowded plane the other two seats of his row remain empty?
the blackbirds swirl
high above snowy fields
their shadow
An attendant instructs him to keep the window shuttered during this daytime flight, for better movie viewing, even though he doesn’t watch. The ocean crossing is long and dull and people need movies to pass the time. I’m like a zealous soccer fan when he glides back over to the window and cracks open the shutter a few inches, slumped as low as he can to gaze into the sky and the sunlight for long bits of time, or draw a book close to his chest to read by that light.
Scrunched up in his wrinkled brown suit like a man in solitary confinement, the rest of us sitting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness in our poured plastic cocoons, breathing recirculated air and trying to stay occupied since leaving our bodies on the tarmac before takeoff. I wonder what will emerge when this plane touches down.
sings
flies
and
a bird
Donna Fleischer
bottle rockets vol 11 no 2 (#22)
word pond 
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