Jim’s Barn Series #1, Pastel, by John Cummings
JETTISON
The tolls I paid to ride
those interstates were
jettison. Coin by coin,
I unloaded your need.
In Southern Virginia,
the highway transformed
into an airport runway.
(I swear this is the truth.
Magically real.)
I was titanium, aluminum,
cleared for takeoff.
I abandoned my car.
I abandoned the way
you insist on authoring every
story, everyone’s story.
I had liftoff. Increased
my camber; airspeed
overwing, underwing
effectuated the angle.
High, I did barrel rolls
and figure eights, formed
smoke rings—a skill
for cocktail parties
you would never attend,
a skill for me alone.
_________________
Kristan LaVietes