contributors||||||||||||||||||||||||||||stickman home|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||V3N1 home

Again close and the Mall parking lot
By Simon Perchik

Again close and the Mall parking lot
—my shoes tight into the turn, laces
I still don’t tie, the planes
in packs, great cities frightened off
—from this height
the blacktop could be some tarmac
and under the hood a cooling fan
tears out more air—there was never enough
air
—even the propellers are immense
—by habit I test for oxygen
not sure what it’s for.

Not yet daybreak, the depot
filled with engine oil, every day
in the same first light, windows left open
radio on, both hands counting—anything! at
35
I leave, the engine still leaking
and under its shadow a damp room, a spark
something this field gets used to
like mornings

and failure. I come back to practice
buying. Soon I’ll be able to count
till there’s enough to weep
and never have to ask some stranger
how much more.