Ascending, then leveling off,
Surrounded by talk of hardware
     and software,
A mean-sounding man talks
     of user-friendly.
I tip my seat back and he stops.
The engines thrum
Seat belts unclick
The stewardesses offer
     mundane delights, which
     up here become heavenly:
Whiskey sour (pre-mixed),
Little juices,
And I await my dinner in
     a sectioned white tray.
Hot, hot, hot, off a Marriott truck!
I know it's fresh 'cause I
     saw the truck
Feeding the plane as I got on.
My ears pop and clog again.
I have seen the tinted beauty
     of night New York,
Just now passed by the
     right-side window, past
     the wing.
It slid under the belly of
     the plane.
I'm on my way to Florida,
     Atlanta coming up.
                                

3/16/83

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