back ~ home ~ up ~ next

 

 

 

At the Front of the Jet

 

The grapefruit's fresh, the coffee's coarsely ground,

The lunch comes with a cold aperitif;

The cushioned takeoff scarcely makes a sound

More vexing than the "iff" that ends "Braniff."

 

Up front the stewardesses really care.

They have kind eyes, like guides in Disneyland.

(Doctors, great statesmen, writers go by air:

The people at United lend a hand.)

 

And at the terminal a car is waiting,

Blue windshield showing a fresh trace of suds;

They've left the blower on, refrigerating;

The tape deck breathes "Moon River"; the door thuds.

 

Give me the sole, the prime, the demitasse.

Yes; if God travels, then He goes first class.

 

Frederick Turner

 

 

From April Wind, 1991.  Reprinted by permission
of University Press of Virginia.


Background by Celine


back ~ home ~ up ~ next