Small talk on a jet
The jet wakes up, points up, takes off.
We wake up, sit up, turn on our computers.
But me and the woman next to me
still like the old black and white paper
news, rustling crispy in our hands.
Coffee comes, then reading. Then, I say -
“There was a school massacre in Pakistan this morning.”
“Mmm, I know,” she says, behind sunglasses. “200 dead kids.”
“When are these people going to stop killing each other? And when I say these people I don’t mean those people.”
Rain rolls back on the windows, and the sun rolls out.
“I mean everybody.”