Stranger On A Plane, Eagle Rock n Roll Thor. ( P O E M )

He wore a long, blond braid,

his big thighs in old jeans.

I noticed, especially as we were sitting thirty-thousand feet up

above earthly matters.

 

We’ve got a talker,

I thought, looking out my little window,

down onto desert roads below that looked like dirt and snake-shapes.

 

His voice was rounded and rough,

he told me about motorcycles,

I pictured coyote bars,

and flags, and words like freedom on knick-knacks,

and women riding on the back with long hair and sunburns.

 

We were squished into that little row__

30 f , e , d (empty).

Finally, I relaxed,

into the stranger-ness

of it all.

 

I relaxed into the strangeness of me,

and him,

and stories at these heights.

 

I crunched my ice,

and told him I was pretty confused

about everything below.

I said I didn’t know much about where what who when or why,

or about where to put the commas or the orders of ideas.

 

I told him I didn’t have a plan, or a savings account.

I opened up

like a 10 am flower.

 

He kept his big hands on his big thighs,

he looked thoughtfully down before saying,

“Here’s what you gotta do__

Just walk around your town.

Walk all day long.

When you get to a place

you like,

or a face you like,

ask for  a job.

That’s how you do life.

Just walk around__

find places and people you like.”

 

I looked at his blonde braid again.

Eagle RocknRoll Thor,  I thought.

Right here beside me__

Who knew!

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