mid-flight in your fever
dream you decide to pop
up and say hello to the chap
smirking in the cockpit
wearing pilot's clothing.
lurking there your fear arises
as you surmise he has no flight plan nor
more than a cursory knowledge
of aerodynamics. granted, he has some
great stories, and he's nice enough
to pin plastic wings through your shirt,
breaking the skin. bleeding
you plead with him to land.
"it's plain to see we are nearly
out of gas. "the stewardess
has free beer," he replies.
"go back to your seat,
the movie is about to begin.
and when it's over someone will be by
to tuck you in."
"we're dying," you say.
"that's flying," says he.
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