Passing Out from the Altitude
I met you on the airplane from Liverpool.
Ten minutes later I guess you said you were in love
and I didn’t believe you could be talking
about somebody else—
the pretty one, the pouty one, the one
who makes too few mistakes,
the one who is always on time,
the one who might have been lucky
if it weren’t for that bar closing too late
and the preoccupation with whatever romance
made her feel special that night . . .
and I would have liked to stay
to finish the landing, or poke a logical hole
in that most laughable of diversions,
but I was too far in denial or self-degradation
and, considering that the moment was fixed in my head
and the free-fall was looming outside,
it's safe to assume I was drunk.
-- Kimberly Steele