Dreams of a 747

Oh this insipid fucking town, complete with witch hunters and tightly wound gossip mongers.

I've studied their faces for years and I know them well.
I know their every movement before execution.

Their body language is always the same.

Leave me alone.

Do not talk to me unless I know you.

All of this without saying a word.

Just the crossing of arms and the pursing of lips.


When I've reached my limit, usually about once a week

I like to drive to an old airport on the outskirts

of Milwaukee to watch the planes come and go.

My blessed field of departure.

I roll down my window no matter how cold it is,

just to hear those powerful engines that

take people like myself to other places.


Ray Strickland Nov.16,1999

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