Small Plane Takes Off without Telling Anyone

Small Plane arrives at the party early, preflight in the parking lot  
with a pint of Jäger, so you take a pop with him and talk  
colors of the sky. Later, when he takes off without telling anyone again 
you think you know the reason. It’s his way of marshaling time 
—no awkward waiting, no eyes all apologies,  
zero lame jokes or future plans you both know will never fly.  
Reality and reassurance in an understood delay,  
any warnings or concern set in a corner standing by. Once the party 
gets up into the air, his stars will soon appear, start waving their little wands,  
orange batons and torchlights indicating rate of return, 
a taxi home or to another high. And although you and others worry 
if he’ll make it to where he’s going, where would your mind travel  
if he took time to say ‘Good-bye’?

ERIC ROY

Eric Roy has poetry forthcoming at Third Coast, Salamander, Bennington Review, Westerly, and Sugar House Review. His poems can also be found at Poetry South, Green Mountains Review, Tampa Review, Salt Hill, Tar River Poetry, and elsewhere.