May 15 2010

As you fly west, from Boston to Dallas, squares of wheat fields,
The bends and hooks of the Mississippi indicate you are above the Delta,
Nearing Memphis, and the scows or freight boats that ply the river
As miniscule as needles or microscopic probes, and when in Dallas,
Each roomy suburban row house features a swimming-pool,
A small kidney shaped spot of chlorinated blue
You’d give your eye-teeth for the spectacle of a cloud-bank
Lit up by tiny squiggles of lightning at their base
As you pass the turbulent zones and enter a clear sky
A crescent moon lights in gradations of blue and crimson
As the sun sets as your plane pursues it over the deserts
The gambling dens and brothels below surrounded by dry empty tracts and missile silos
A blaze of lights of small cities in the dark swiftly approached and passed
In Nevada no evidence of urban sprawl
The descent above large row-houses, each with a kidney-shaped swimming pool
On the monorail among Texas preachers and high school football coaches
The airport’s cozy microclimate, its air-cooled gargantuan lobbies
Branched and alphabetized