flying through Denver
in early December
bound for Portland town...
feels like the first line
of a bad country song
loading up in Des Moines
with bewildered old people
trying to find their place
while their children lose
their patience with them
and crying babies
two weeks in the barn
and back in the sky
as we de-ice
and live the mariner’s
ancient rhyme, again.
DSM Airport 2018