Wireless

We're flying in a tube
with the windows shut tight,                                   
tweeting and texting and updating.
We're connected. We're connecting.
Wireless.

I slip up the little window cover
with a push of the hand and
row 2 D and E shines.

I press my forehead to the glass
gazing at butterless popcorn and
rogue bullies with big noses
pushing at gray shirts
to gather in one place,
posturing for an afternoon blowout.

The tube tips and water and sky
merge into one
marked by meandering varicosities
flowing out to sea.                                                            
The sun flashes in my eyes
through silver clouds,
and I'm overwhelmed
with peace
as we soar.

Wireless.

Peace. Love, Linda