My wife says,
No one likes to sit in emergency rows because
that’s too much responsibility,
as if the thought of a disaster is enough
xx for a guaranteed
vacant seat,
and when I dropped her purse while
she went to pee before the flight,
the man behind me confided,
Don’t worry. I won’t tell her,
upholding the rules of
xxxx The Brotherhood of Tight-lipped Husbands.
We pick and choose
when we’re willing to defend
and when to pretend we never
peeked out the window
and saw the faulty wing
that caused
the crash.
The stewardess stands in front of the cabin,
demonstrating how to use the seatbelt
and oxygen mask
like an advertisement for the airlines
xxxx and exaggeration,
and I ponder how many times
she’s done this before
and how many times
we ignored the warning signs
that could’ve saved us
from the suffocation.
The plane bounces to stop and everyone
rises with no place to go
because the door’s still closed
and this is how each new day feels,
stretching my legs at the end of the day,
only to sit back down,
fed a small packet of pretzels and water,
conforming to the next
long flight.
Daniel Romo is the author of American Manscape (Moon Tide Press 2026), Bum Knees and Grieving Sunsets (FlowerSong Press 2023), Moonlighting as an Avalanche (Tebot Bach 2021), and other books. His work can be found in The Los Angeles Review, Hotel Amerika, Yemassee, and elsewhere. He received an MFA from Queens University of Charlotte, and he lives, writes, and rides his bikes in Long Beach, CA. More at https://danieljromo.com
Hawaii Pacific Review 