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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

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