Small Song Of Wonders


Not fucking anything up. Plush fly—
job that starts with the punch of the clock
& ends after the crew’s gone home. High
seats & no freighters. No kinks in the back.
A good solid shit. Coffee that smacks
of real coffee. Steady go but no panic,
no do-overs or swaps, no minute misused.
All equipment in tiptop mechanic—
al shape. Crewboss in a good mood
for a change. Retro pay on an overtime cheque.
No hangover, despite last night’s booze.
Ballmat smooth on the jet’s upper deck—
tilted downhill.
No wind. Sky: an inverted robin’s-egg shell.

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