Flying at Night

A day after the clocks have shifted back

an hour, it is 5 p.m. and already dark out.

I am lying in bed reading three books at once,

in alternation, trying to override my broken

attention span which cannot focus on any

book for more than a chapter at a time.

Remember to drink more water!

the doctors say, and I obey. Continually, I pee.

Continually, I wash my hands and arms raw.

Outside, some fool in a Cessna

　　　　　is flying their blunt striped swan

through the slate-gray corpse of day,

the heavy machinery of those rainclouds inviting

the lampblack ink of night to spread

between their corroded-silver printing plates.

What a fool, flying so late into the night.

How do they expect to land?

Author's Note

Published by Stone Poetry Quarterly, August 2024
https://stonepoetryjournal.com/sean-eaton/