“Why don’t planes ever land here?”
I groan purposefully loud over
twitching red sour punch straws
and a watered down, rippled diet coke,
jiggling knee and choppy breath.
I ponder unfinished tasks
on faded post it note,
fidget with hair tie which reflects
glowing stretch of guiding blue lights.
“Why don’t planes ever land here?”
I laugh hysterically over
scattered trail mix from the glovebox,
stained grey passenger seat.
music floats through open car windows
across scattered dusty gravel and
metal bleachers shined with moonlight,
hovering, spiraling chest,
like nonexistent aircraft.

“Why don’t planes ever land here?”
I mumble,
tapping hand against steering wheel
muffled by
blasting harsh heat,
wet neck kiss,
soft shoulder nuzzle,
and the ‘buh duh shh’ sound when
she sings a guitar solo.

“Private planes don’t usually land at 3:42am,”
Level headed hand stills
trembling fingers
as wheels touch pavement,
grounded amongst guiding blue eyes.