The fasten seat belt sign blinks off
and I lean my seat and my head back
into the conversation behind me,
“Well, you haven’t lived until you’ve heard a corpse fart!
You see, I worked in a morgue all my life.”
The jet banks and the sun shoots white yellow
across the aisle, highlights a very sunny
animated amputee telling a childhood story,
"She - mom - would wake me up every morning with this song:
WAKE UP LITTLE MAN, JAR THE GROUND,
SHAKE THAT WOODEN LEG, ROUND AND ROUND!
She was cheering me up! I don't know where my leg went
or what she did with it, but what a great mom to have!
I mean, it could've been worse!"
There's a line to the bathroom, the stewardess
at the caboose of it with the drink cart, and I hear a nun
talking to a maybe basketball player, his head hairing
the ceiling of the fuselage,
"Do you think Jesus would shop at Whole Foods?
I think he was more a Trader Joe's man. Also,
if someone had said to Jesus, There are no
free lunches, He would've come back with: Why not?
Happy Easter, sir. Man … if I may say,
I bet you have a great 3-point shot!"
(To be continued; check flight information at your gate.)
