William Doreski

Flying a genuine airplane
for the first time, I veer and slant
above the city, panicking
shoppers who mistake me
for a Stukka dive bomber

left over from the long-ago war.
Skyscrapers erupt in my path.
The wind currents steer me away,
but with both feet on the pedals
and no conscious control I swerve

past windows full of clerks
who mistake my own gray terror
for terrorism as such. Crackle
of radio, gnash of propeller
chewing air full of voices

arouses survival instincts
I’d hadn’t thought to possess.
The Cessna Skycatcher flutters
like a motorized Luna moth.
Its braced wing strains to lift me

out of reach of the skyscrapers,
but I’m afraid of heights. Pistons
clatter and the torn air weeps
through the open window. I wave
at the crowds cursing me and loop

an inadvertent loop and soar
over the harbor. How can I land
at an airport hustling big jets
to Florida and Spain? No room
on those cringing runways. Safer

to fly into the suburbs and find
an airport small enough to accept
my little crash without deploying
the entire federal government
to sift whatever remains.

©2012 This work is the property of the author.


Posted on July 25, 2012, in POETRY, William Doreski and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink. 4 Comments.

  1. I like the idea in William’s poem of trying to fly freely in a world where it seems impossible.

    Read his excellent poem A ONE-ROOM COMMUNE, by clicking the link:

  2. William Doreski’s exciting yet fatalistic poem reminds me of a parachutist feeling connected
    to space and a sense of timeless awareness of fate. Here a context of death’s finality
    and life’s mystery meet with existential numinous emotive forces speaking to each one of our lives.Great images of pedestrian lives below.I am moved by the line “Skyscrapers erupt my
    path” is a fearless vividness which makes a great poem, as we come down from being high
    to the lowliness ,awareness, and loneliness of what it is to be a mere mortal in the private
    history and profile of a poet.

  3. Reblogged this on Eagle Wings Soaring.

  4. Well, I guess we’re all solo at take-off and also when we finally land. Personally, I hope I crash in a mountain wilderness or a tamarack swamp and not in the suburbs. I, likewise don’t want the feds sifting through my remains or my living body, for that matter. I like the line about having no “conscious” control implies and I really like the idea of “survival instincts I hadn’t thought to posess”. Lots to ruminate in these words

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