Some More Thoughts on Death

For the Sake of Navigation

I will die in between two days, on a transatlantic flight,

after the stewardess has given me my drink.

I will be at peace with liminal space, false legroom.

I will be nation-less, ground-less, 63,000 feet up in the air.

My soul will thank me for doing

almost three-fourths of the job, the airline & co. will not.

Perhaps the plane will land in Paris,

but the chances are slim, instead I’ll be carrying bad news to a lover.

I will be one of the true, few mile-high club members,

receive a two-fer, a free plane ride back!

But if anything I just wanted to play with time,

make it wait for me zone by zone.

I will die in between two days, on a transatlantic flight,

inside the belly of an aeronautical Leviathan.