sometimes i marvel at
how symmetrical this airplane is,
or subversively unbalanced like a nose ring
or company logos on the bottom
right corner of your television screen.
i've been conditioned to believe
that human beings
have been conditioned to believe
there's beauty in symmetry.
"so what about the guy who cleans the airplane?..."
now, what kind of a character sketch is that:
incomplete sentence
of a workman's weekday clothes rack.
what if we were to give him a german accent,
one eye, and a dali mustache?
you'd immediately think "cobra"--
he must be unscrewing the propellors,
banana peel in the gas tank.
but let it be known:
the guy with the molester van
and the dodgey sunglasses
might be jesus or your mother.
i want to write balance
across the aisle from the exit sign,
'cause that's about the only damn
nose ring on this airplane.
