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?


---Published by Stone Poetry Quarterly, Aug. 2024
https://stonepoetryjournal.com/sean-eaton/
---Posted here Nov. 25, 2024