A jet came blazing out of the east
Streaked across the sky
Vanished into the west.
I’m sure of it: I can see that white contrail up there
Against a perfect blue sky
Through the mesh of my tent.
Mosquito screen all ‘round,
Fantastic breeze drifting through,
Waving the tall grass.
The sun warms my back;
I lie on my side and gaze.
I hear a dove
Mourning the loss of so many lives,
Up in that jet –
So many people too busy for this
Hurrying from A to B;
Never getting to see the C.
The crickets went quiet hours ago
Sometime before dawn
Or so I’d guess; I wouldn’t know.
I was asleep.
They sang their monosyllabic hearts out
And then retired
As I’ll do, someday,
When I decide to slow down.
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Tags: flyover, poem, Woodcock