35,000 feet, west (plus one)


They are French
all in their forties
and full of beans

black sweaters and jeans
heading for an Atlanta
of who knows where.

Three men, hardly mousquetaires
deep in conversation
Row 27.

They talk mouths very close together
loud with long Gallic noses
laughter and hand gestures

universal noises
sudden silences
explosions of disbelief

repetition, hooded eyes
unnecessary scarves
that from another nation

would be considered homosexual.
Large watches, chronometers
and wedding rings.

Thick fingers to wear them on.
Hair mostly and fleshy ear lobes
well-fed ear lobes.

They’re saying “Non, non, non….”
over and over again.
Two sit and the other looms

spread out across the seats
in front
just so.

In some bastardization of Kennedy
I ask not what they wil make of America
but what America will make of them.

Dec 3, 2011

The second part of another poem that only required one part


Another arrives
and so there are four
this one wiry
a dark-striped shirt
and also standing.

Blue jeans and rimless glasses
hugging himself
and talking neuf-huit
to the douze.
Slim, no jewels.

The two standers
paired off somehow
leave together
headed for the back
stereo types; two together

and as expected
a movie begins.
Something concerned with
the killing of chimpanzees.
I require no headphones.

Dec 3, 2011