Stepping on the plane.
“Sorry for the wait,” but it’s okay.
There isn’t any obvious mistake.
It’s ordinary.
Staring out the wing
At the ground below.
What can we say?
At 30,000 feet, the roads, a maze.
I try to find a way out.
Face the ground.
Clovers and rounds.
Fields and plows.
Traffic patterns change.
Infrastructure wanes and we complain.
But could it happen any other way?
Extraordinary.
Try to catch a break.
Shifting in the lanes to no escape.
Looking at the map as though to say:
“I’ve gotta find a way out.”
Race around.
Running aground.
Twist and shout.
Silence fills the space.
Blocking an escape, and on your face:
exasperated eyes.
“I just can’t take this running around.”
Now we've landed safe—
As if there was any other way.
What was once relief has turned mundane.
I've gotta find a way out.
Face the crowd
Running around
Catch the doubt
Tried to find a way out.
I couldn't keep my head above the crowd.
Said we were some days out.
I never thought I’d come back to this house.
I tried to find a way out.
I waited for your contact to come through.
And I could never take it or lose.