ManicDDaily

On Plane (Forgot the Socks.)

A lot of traveling today and now I’m staying in a moldy, motel room.  Agh.   Sometimes when you are having trouble with inspiration, it’s best to turn to a traditional form like a sonnet.  The form itself can help move you through the poem, getting you to something like completion.   For more on the sonnet form, look in the poetry category from the ManicDDaily home page.

Flying 

To be made love to in your head at thirty
thousand feet is a good way to relax,
at thirty thousand feet.  Not truly flirty
or even dirty-minded; no attacks
on those around you, whose hands or chests or chins,
today, tend towards the pudgy in any case,
and, besides, are so pre-occupied with “in
flight entertainment” as to fully erase
your presence, as well as the close-up sky,
that dip of cloud and blue you’ve always loved, even so,
you don’t look either, but drift, as you fly,
through sinews, murmurs, even the after-glow
of a warmth that’s kindled only in your brain
(though you always wear wool socks upon a plane.)